


Inconvenient Relatives

by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)



Series: Inconvenient Relatives [1]
Category: DCU - Comicverse, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Batman - Freeform, Batman: A Death in the Family, Canon What Canon, Karaoke, M/M, Magic, Magic!Stiles, Writing, edges crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 72,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/DarkAthena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has really inconvenient relatives, so when a dead raccoon starts following him around he really wishes someone would have mentioned that he might inherit magic, especially when they come to stay.</p><p>Or the one in which Dick Grayson is Stiles' Cousin and Batman is real</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I crossed the TW universe with the DC universe for shits and giggles really, but as a rule what exists in one universe for the sake of this fic exists in both, ie they are, in this fic, the same one. The idea came from having Stiles meet one of the Robins. then I saw  
> [this ](http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=dick+grayson#/d1ovj2e)  
> also [this](http://jemallman.deviantart.com/art/Nightwing-Rec-329813296)  
> and the rest was obvious
> 
> BTW Bruce really is a assface in comic canon, so he's probably the only character in this who ISN'T OOC, and yes he really did do that when he adopted Jason.
> 
> NOTE for NON comic fans
> 
> This is in a specific timeline that is sort of important but I explained it, Dick Grayson was the first Robin until Batman fired him, he was replaced by Jason Todd.
> 
>  
> 
> NOTE for comic fans
> 
> Due to comic timelines being insane and that it takes about 9 years our time to equate 1 year gotham time, I completely messed with this, combining the period just before Death in the Family with Nightwing Year One. Except I made it so the breach happened whilst Dick was in college but he floated longer than he did in NYO, so it fit in better with Detective Comics timeline. So in this Dick is 22, Jason is 16/17
> 
>  
> 
> \--  
> NANO! So unbetaed and probably full of errors, if you spot one, point it out and I'll fix it  
> The chapters are uneven because of this, but I was coerced to share it  
> I cut off the ending because I didn't like it, and after Christmas I'll redo it, the last ten k were rushed and horrible because I wanted to finish the damn thing and finish work on something else that had a more pressing deadline. If you want more let me know, praise doesn't make the world go around, but it does make the updates faster
> 
> Note on names  
> It is common in Eastern European countries to have fond diminutives of names, so Anya is the same as Anastasia, Dacha is the same as Dick, etc  
> Srdecni Draha is Czech (Bohemian) and literally means Beloved Heart, it's pronounced, as far as I can tell, as Sree-detch-nee dra(as in dracula) ha. I have been reliably informed it's a nonsense name and it's wrong anyway, that it would be Drahe Srdce, just an unpronouncable, but it would mean switching his name from Sasha to Dacha, which would cause confusion. So I concede defeat here but am not changing it in the story.

Lily Angorian, Sheriff Stilinski noticed with some surprise, was beautiful. He was surprised because whenever a teacher at the high school was anything more than average the local gossip mill was suddenly full of their comings and goings, and he hadn't heard a word about Stiles's AP English teacher at all, and she was the sort of woman that teenage boys would be instantly in love with. She had long dark hair, olive skin and large dark eyes, and the blouse and skirt she wore cinched in a tiny waist between large breasts and hips, before the pencil skirt, that was almost too tight, ended just above the knee revealing silky nylons and perfect pumps. She was every "hot for teacher" fantasy right there, complete with hair just pushed back by a hand and thick black framed glasses.

So Jed was a little surprised that he had heard nothing, because even all of his "hot for teacher" hormones, long since thought dead, perked up at seeing her.

"Ah, Sheriff Stilinski." Suddenly everything suddenly made sense. The woman had the most awful voice, it was low and throbbing like a headache, and she had a sort of sing song accent that was not entirely unlike Tom Jones. He immediately wanted to turn tail and run. He couldn't imagine the horror of listening to a whole lecture by this woman. "I'm so glad you could make time for this." Her smile was dazzling, her figure was eighties rock video perfect and her voice was like a migraine. Jed immediately wanted to get this over with.

"What's he done now?" Jed said sitting in the chair she indicated for him. She had pushed her desk to the side wall, against the window and sat facing him in a chair just like his own.

She laughed and, god help him, it was worse than her voice, "he's not in trouble, quite the opposite in fact. You see, I will admit I've taken something of an interest in Stiles, he's a brilliant student, and ADHD is, well," she stopped,"my sister has it, and so I know how it's..." she left it open, clearly explaining everything for him,"and I know that it often results in things that other teachers, trying to corral a class of ne'erdowells into learning something, consider trouble making, when really it's not. So I will admit to be using my own experience to corral him."

"If his grades have slipped..." Jed started.

"Oh no, his grades are excellent, he's easily at post grad college level as it is, I'm not worried about his grades, quite the opposite I assure you. The only thing that ever helped my sister was making things, she could lose herself like that, and so I must admit I've been using that to guide his class. Let's just say they've been doing a lot of composition."

Jed groaned, he could see where this was going "He's a cop's kid, he's seen things, it doesn't mean he's disturbed."

She laughed again and put her hand on his knee, oh no, he thought, the awful woman was flirting with him. "Stiles work isn't disturbed, it's exquisite, in fact that's what I wanted to talk to you about." From a leather satchel at her feet she pulled out several plastic folders, each with a few pages fixed within. "These are his last few compositions. I set him one, he'll hand in five, and I read them all, they are fantastic, well above his age level, and well," she leaned forward as if she was sharing a secret so he could see into the vee of her blouse, "I'm British, we don't immediately think that writing blood and gore makes you a serial killer, in fact the opposite, it gets it out of the system in a safe way, and with the video games and movies at the moment, believe me, I've seen it all." She licked her painted red lips. If she shut up he might succumb to her seduction, but then she spoke again. "There is a writer's group in Mount Shasta, they meet twice a month, on every other Wednesday, they're quite inclusive but they're willing to take Stiles on."

"He's not in trouble?" the sheriff asked.

"Really, no, he needs parental permission for an after school activity off campus, and I think it would do him good. His work is excellent, really, in fact, if I can be honest, Sheriff," she was angling for his name, and it hadn't been that long since he had recognised these things, he was a sheriff, people tried to flirt with him to get out of all sorts of things, but that didn't mean that it was happening, "the only thing I can compare his work to is a book I read in college, the author only wrote one book, vanished from the world stage, left behind this amazing work that haunts me to this day. It reminds me of that, I'll give you the author's name so you can read it yourself." She stood up, smoothing down her fitted skirt with practise in a motion that wasn't deliberately sexy but read 1940's femme fatale, and leant over her desk with a pencil to scribble down the information. "Her name was Anastasia Morozova."

"That's Stiles's Mom."

The pencil snapped.

She recovered herself, badly. "Really?" She asked, "you know that answers a lot of questions, I mean if his Mom was a writer."

"She never said she was, I knew she'd done something to get money, but I never knew what and never asked her. This is the first I've heard that she wrote a book. She really never mentioned it and she died when he was seven."

Lily Angorian looked like she was about to hyperventilate. "Sorry," she said, "You must understand," she licked her lips again, "imagine if one of your deputies told you he played the drums a little and then you found out his dad was Bon Scott." Seriously, Jed thought to himself, if this woman would stop talking she'd be the perfect woman, and it wasn't even what she was saying. "Morozova completely changed the face of transformative fiction,"The Boy who Ran with Wolves" is comparable to John Banville's "Mephisto" or Iain Bank's "The Wasp Factory" for importance," she didn't seem to notice that Jed had no idea what those books were,"and when I read it I was the same age she was when she wrote it, and I wanted to be a writer and she showed me that wasn't going to happen. For the week I read that book, over and over, I lived with Rowan, I ran with Alexei, and I hunted with Chastel, I spent the next few years holidaying in that part of France, I loved it that much, and well." She shrugged. "Okay, fangirl moment over," she offered him a smile.

"I do think that Stiles would benefit from an adult writer's group, if nothing else than to steer his reading. I also think he's better than the ones already there, but some of them are published and can walk him through that route because certainly "The Girl Amongst the Lilies" deserves a Bram Stoker award." Jed knew who Bram Stoker was but he hadn't known he gave out awards. "You have a remarkable son, Sheriff, even if most of the Luddites in this school can't see that." She handed him the folders,"I'm supposed to give these back to Stiles himself, but I'm sure you can pass them on." These were Stiles's compositions, the stories he'd written for this woman.

She stopped, then her mouth twisted, "actually one more thing before I let you go, Sheriff, Isaac Lahey, I'm trying to get him moved to AP English next term, I mean semester, and I need a signature, do you happen to know who he's staying with since his father died?"

Jed racked his thoughts, he genuinely didn't, and that was disturbing. Lahey was the same age as Stiles and the sudden thought of Stiles living rough and the things kids on the street did to get a meal. It didn't bear thinking about. "He's showing up for school?"

"His attendance is actually better since his father's death," she said,"and his grades are excellent, but we need to post the letter for signature, because the last two we sent with him have gone missing in transit, and I have no idea where he's staying, and he and Stiles have become friends, so I thought you might know."

"I don't know." Jed agreed. "And I don't particularly like that I don't know, either, thank you, Miss Angorian, it looks like I might have to wrangle my son regardless." She beamed at him. "Here's my number," she said handing him a card, "if you want to talk, as I said, my sister is ADHD, I know what it's like living with that." She was being blatant, Jed thought to himself, and if she had any other voice in the world he might have taken her up on it, but as it was, it was like a Welsh migraine and he could even live with the Welsh thing.

\--

Stiles was laying out dinner when he came in. He'd clearly been to the deli because there was fresh bread and pasta sauce that didn't look like it came out of a tube and wasn't full of hot dog sausages. Stiles didn't do this often. There was even a little bit of garlic sitting in a bowl of olive oil. He must have thought he was in trouble.

The sheriff took off his gun, put it in the lockable drawer, because you could never be too careful with firearms, before he sat down. "How was your meeting with Miss Angorian?" Stiles asked, pouring two glasses of milk, what looked, from the bottle, to be full fat. He must have thought he was in a lot of trouble. "Do I need to get the advil?"

At that Jed laughed. "You could have warned me about that voice." He said, taking a piece of the bread and dipping it in the oil.

"You wouldn't have believed me. Jackson says it's like Shirley Bassey sat on a jack hammer." Jed nearly choked on the bread. "She read out this passage from the "Scarlet Letter" and we were this close to tying her to a stake and setting her on fire just to make it quit. She's a great teacher, I mean, she really is, but..."

Jed nodded. "She wanted to ask me about Isaac Lahey," Stiles put down his glass. "She had nothing but praise for the two of you, but she wants to move Isaac up to the AP class, and imagine her surprise when she found he had no address on record, and neither did I." Stiles started to worry her lip. "Especially as I know you and Isaac have been friendly lately, and he's been around almost as much as Scott, and you're not in trouble, but is he sleeping rough?"

Stiles sighed, spearing his noodles with his fork. "He sort of floats around," he said, "crashing on people's couches, I mean, even here, when you're not in."

Jed put down his fork and folded his napkin. "That's not acceptable, Stiles," Stiles went to cut him off with his usual babble but Jed just talked over him, "we have a perfectly good spare room, you, after you've eaten, are going to get in contact with Isaac and tell him to get his things together, he's moving in here."

"Even though you tried to arrest him for murdering his dad?"

Jed sighed, it was a mirror of his son's. "I didn't, I wanted to talk to him, and I thought that a scare would open him up. He's a good kid, I know that, and he's had a hard year. So, I'm pulling rank here, kiddo, he's going in the spare room, and he can help you clear it up. So as soon as we've eaten, we're driving over there to get him, is that alright?"

Stiles nearly launched himself across the table,"you are the best dad, ever!" he said, "I got that mascarpone ice cream you like, mostly because I thought that Miss Angorian would have tried to get you to get me to join that writer's club, seriously, they're all scary old people, or had decided I was failing or I needed to see Miss Morrell again."

"The writing circle is on you," Jed said taking a mouthful of the pasta, it had chicken in it with the tomato and basil instead of beef but it was still very good, "but do you think you need to see Miss Morrell?"

Stiles grinned at me, "I watch enough Criminal Minds that I know what you're doing, dad, I'm just going to phone Isaac, and then I'll come back, I mean, I've been munching on olives since I went to the deli, they do these green ones stuffed with lemon and anchovy and they're so awesome, I could eat mountains of them, but I'm going to eat my dinner, and I got the mascarpone ice cream because it's healthier than the low fat ice cream can you believe it, and it's super delish, but it's cheese, frozen cheese, but I got the one with raspberries and..."

"Stiles," Jed said with the corner of his mouth up in a smirk, it was adorable when Stiles fell over himself like this. "Go phone Isaac."

The pasta was good, now that he was given the opportunity to actually eat it. There was even a bottle of non alcoholic red wine on the table. Stiles must have really thought that Miss Angorian was going to suggest something vile, when in fact she'd been rather complimentary, of course it was likely that he didn't actually listen to what she said with that voice. He probably got his assignments off the board. Stiles came bouncing down the stairs, remarkably loud for such a skinny kid, he sounded like an elephant on roller skates, when he could be almost graceful on the lacrosse field. "What did he say?"

"He said he didn't want to be a bother, so I told him that if he didn't he'd be a bigger bother, and he was to get his stuff together and we'd pick him up, Isaac's great, he's a bit shy though, and he gets defensive easy, I mean it makes sense and all, but I mean, we're Stilinski men, we're all about the talking and I don't want you to think that something's wrong, because nothing's wrong, if he's quiet, it's just who he is."

"Stiles," Jed said sagely, "eat your dinner." Really, Jed thought, the best way to deal with Stiles when he got like this was to cut him off with short sharp demands for things he was going to do anyway.

Stiles shovelled the food into his mouth like it was a dying art form and he wanted to make the most of it in the thirty seconds it had left in the world. It was both amazing and horrific to see. Jed liked to argue that he was used to it, but truly it wasn't something you could just get used to, you accommodated it and kept your eyes on your plate. When that was done he looked torn about seconds, and then stopped himself, which was a surprise, before wrapping up the leftovers and putting them in the fridge. "Isaac may be hungry later," he said, then frowned,"Do you think I need to make anything else?"

-

Isaac Lahey reminded Jed of a puppy, a great big fluffy puppy that was so exuberant and eager to please that he didn't know what to do with himself, whether he was to lollop around, jump on his owner for affection or just plain piss on the carpet. They had stopped off at Walgreens for basics, and shampoo, because Jed was convinced the house was infested with some sort of shampoo goblin that was drinking it from the bottle or something because he seemed to go through a lot of the stuff for two men with not a lot of hair between them. It was like he was showering Rapunzel the way he went through it. So getting basics for Isaac really gave him an opportunity to stock up on shampoo.

When they got in, Stiles fed Isaac. It was the only way to word it, he took the bowl of remaining pasta out of the fridge, threw it in the microwave with a small glass of water, and whilst it nuked made a quick salad, before pouring out a glass of the full fat milk. Stiles clearly wanted the boy to feel welcome. "Isaac," Jed started and the boy stopped, fork halfway between his mouth and his plate and those large eyes terrified. "Eat your dinner, I was just going to say that I'll talk to social services tomorrow, make this official. The state gives foster parents an allowance to help, I'm going to halve that with you first off, but it'll take a few weeks to come through. I don't need it, feeding Stiles is already like feeding a zoo, except the zoo would have better table manners," Stiles pulled a face at him from the sink. Jed just grinned back, "and you're to spend it on whatever you want, along as it isn't things like drugs and alcohol, I am the Sheriff after all. If you want I can put some of it aside for you to help you get a car."

Isaac nodded, carefully chewing on a cherry tomato, then he wiped his mouth. "Thank you, sir, I mean, Sheriff, I mean, sir."

"Just Jed," He was corrected.

"Stiles will take you through the house rules, they're simple enough, and tomorrow I'll go with you to your old house to get whatever you need, okay?" Isaac nodded, the gestures slightly overlarge. "And the truth is kid, that you're doing me a favour really, this town at the moment, it's like that movie where the whole town went crazy."

"The Howling?" Isaac suggested.

"I was thinking The Crazies." Jed said with a laugh, "one thing this town doesn't have is a closed network, seriously, everyone here knows everyone's business. Not that you boys are old enough to have seen that movie."

"I watched it with you, Dad," Stiles said with a grin, getting him one of the alcohol free beers from the fridge.

"I know," Jed smiled back at his son,"I was just making a point, but the fact is the way this town is going although I know Stiles is capable of looking out for himself it puts me at ease that there is someone else in the house with him when I'm working nights."

"Good save." Stiles agreed.

"I thought so." Jed turned back to Isaac. "School night curfew is ten, week end it's midnight, if you're going to break it for any reason let me know before hand and tell me how long you're going to be, so I'm not up worrying that you're dead in a ditch, believe me I've seen enough kids dead in ditches and I don't want you two to be among them. If you need to get me at the station just tell Rosie on reception, she'll put you through to me. I can't use my cell at work, but a text goes a long way. Now I'm told your grades are excellent so yeah, just do what you're doing, if you need help don't ask me because I have no idea what you're doing in school and honestly I'm happier that way, algebra was bad enough when I was your age, I don't want it coming back to haunt me."

"Told you," Stiles said smugly, "best dad ever."

Something fluttered across Isaac's face and then he smiled around a mouthful of chicken. "Thank you," he said.

"And remember, boys, I am the Sheriff, I will hear about it, because Mrs Greenaway, she likes to call the station just to chat for four hours at a time because she's lonely and if she doesn't know about it happening it probably didn't."

Isaac laughed a little "thank you again, sheriff, I mean, I mean sir," his shoulders slumped.

"You can work on it," Jed said,"now I am on shift tonight, so no wild parties, and, Stiles, that isn't an invitation to make him watch Sharktopus, because torture is illegal."

"Da-ad." Stiles drew out the word,"but you don't understand, it's an awfultacular piece of super awesome, it's so bad it's amazing, it's like..." he stopped,"you just don't understand greatness."

Jed was pulling on his coat, after belting on his service revolver when he heard Stiles say,"The Howling, really?" and Isaac laughed. It was only when he got back in the cruiser that he saw the stack of Stiles' compositions on the passenger seat.


	2. Chapter 2

There were eyes following him in the darkness, and a sort of skittery patter of feet on the leaf mulch. Stiles quickened his pace. Normally he felt reasonably safe in these woods, the few things that might have eaten him avoided him because he smelt of pack, something that was blossoming in the weeks since Gerard Argent had vanished and Derek had been there when Scott wasn't, but, there was definitely something following him.

And he didn't like it.

He started to walk a little faster.

The sound behind him got a little faster as if it was keeping pace with him.

With just over a hundred yards left between him and the Hale house Stiles' nerve broke and he sprinted. Both Derek and Peter were at the door, like a matched pair on a mantlepiece, both with eyes alert and claws bared. Stiles darted between the two of them and started panting, sprinting was not his forte, especially sprinting like it might actually be a hound of hell at his heels. "Something," he said pointing back to the woods, "follow."

Peter raised his head and deliberately sniffed. "I don't smell anything." He said still eyeing the tree line warily, "it's getting dark, you were walking alone in the woods, do you think you might have scared yourself."

Stiles, trying to catch his breath, looked around, "I don't know, maybe."

"You scared us," Derek said mock punching his shoulder, "we thought you were being attacked, we could hear your heart - it sounded like it was going to explode."

"With that and the breathing, it was like Silent Hill," Peter rolled his eyes, "the first one," he said, "the controller it," he made a motion with his hands a couple of inches apart that could have meant anything, "and the panting," he looked at them again. "What, I have a playstation..." he continued.

"There," Stiles said pointing at a tree, "I saw it, it fucking moved."

Both of them raised their heads to sniff. "I can't hear anything but you, Stiles," Peter said, "and there's no new smells, you weren't up all night watching the Evil Dead or something were you? because it's dark, it's the woods..."

"What the?" Derek said leaning forward, "there is something there." He squinted into the tree line, "there, do you see it?" Peter leant in. "Is that?" Derek continued.

"Stiles," Peter said his tone becoming businesslike, "go into the kitchen, and get some salt, actually, get the whole box."

"What is it?" Stiles asked.

"Nothing to worry about," Peter said calmly, perhaps a bit too calmly, "just, get the salt okay."

For once, without any back chat, Stiles did what he was told.

 

It was a raccoon, and it was just as terrifying when Peter was standing between him and it, because Peter, for some reason made him carry the salt, and Derek sort of lurked along as if he had no idea what the hell was going on but he wasn't going to miss it for the world.

It wasn't just a raccoon, it was road kill.

It had clearly been dead for some time because there were bones sticking out through it's fur and it's jaw and tongue were missing. It was possible to see it's rib cage entirely on one side. One leg and foot was completely flattened.

And it was staring at Stiles like he was Justin Bieber, and trying to sit on it's back legs, in the begging position for dogs, and kept falling over because of it's pureed leg.

"Take the salt, Stiles," Peter said, "just a pinch will do," his voice was curiously calm, "unless you want to keep him."

Stiles took a handful of the salt.

"It's all right," Peter's voice was almost soothing, "now sprinkle it on his head, and say "I release you, return to your grave."

"That's it?" Stiles asked, for some reason he had thought that magic would be a lot more complicated than that.

"That's it," Peter reassured him. He sounded eerily like Deaton the way he did it, he had that sort of zen, I know more but you don't deserve to know - stare into the middle distance - way of completely avoiding the subject that the vet used down pat.

Stiles held out his hand so it was the absolute furthest away it could be from his body and a safe distance from the clearly rabid dead raccoon in front of him. Turning his face away he rubbed the salt onto the head, which looked like it was going to expire of rabid dead racoon glee, if rabid dead raccoons could die. "I release you," he said quickly, the words falling over themselves.

The raccoon blinked, it was the first time it had done it, and a gesture made all the more creepy by the fact that when it opened it's eyes one of them dribbled out to hang on it's cheek, then it curled up into a ball and went still. Deathly still. Actually-dead-this-time still.

"What the fuck?!" Stiles asked, skittering backwards from the corpse. "I mean, What the fuck?!?"

Peter took a deep breath, the I am surrounded by idiots but what can you do breath. "Re-animation is the simplest of magics, a spell somewhere probably went wrong and the magic had to go somewhere. Stiles, clearly you were the first person it saw when it woke up and thought you were the one to summon it, therefore you get to get rid of it. There's a shovel out back."

"No, I mean, Derek, tell him, dead things should deal with dead things."

"I dunno," Derek said calmly, "It did follow you here." Then he turned back to the house as if they were dismissing the pizza boy.

Peter patted him on the back, "seriously, the shovel's out back."

A few minutes later when Stiles was holding the shovel with it's cargo out as far from his body as he possibly could until he could find somewhere to bury it, Peter grinned at him and said. "But really, Stiles, children shouldn't play with dead things," before he turned his back.

Perhaps it had started as an idea in his head, but by the time it was fully formed the shovel was being held like a lacrosse net and the raccoon had already struck Peter on the back of the head with a sort of wet crackly snap, like a very loud rice crispie, and Peter made a sort of horrified gasp as Derek made a noise that might have been interpreted as a laugh, by people who didn't know Derek and therefore didn't know that he didn't do that. Stiles might also have made an almost snigger. But really it was a more a sni, because he knew perfectly well he had just thrown a dead and rotten zombie raccoon at a werewolf who had previously tried to kill and eat him. He couldn't have said it was his brightest moment, but it was easily his best ever throw.

Peter reached around his neck and peeled the raccoon off, holding it out at arm's length before throwing it into the woods, "and remember, Derek, that's the brains of the group." He said before going to the house, he pulled his shirt off as he reached the door and Derek watched him go from the porch before he made a noise not entirely unlike a smothered giggle.

Derek composed himself as it was possible to hear, even for Stiles' not were hearing, Peter going up the stairs. "You shouldn't have done that," he said although the laugh was still lurking at the corner of his mouth, "you're lucky that old shovel didn't break." And that was it, whatever ability Derek had been using to stop himself laughing gave way under the strain, the dam broke and he genuinely lost it. Stiles who was still holding the shovel took one look at him and burst out laughing as well.

Peter stuck his head out of the window when they were done, a towel wrapped turban style around his head, "oh and Stiles, any more zombie Rocky and Bullwinkle's go to Deaton."

Stiles pressed his lips together before he said, "does he know that Rocky was a squirrel?" and Derek was lost again. He looked a lot younger and warmer laughing.

It took the best part of an hour after that to pass on the message that had been the simple reason that Stiles had gone to the Hale house at all. And he might have stood behind where Peter sat on the old beaten up couch, that was home to an entire dynasty of mice, with a book, and sprinkled salt on his head and murmured "I release you, return to your grave," as Derek snickered.

Peter just rolled his eyes and said, "and now I need to wash my hair again."

\---

When Stiles opened his curtains the next morning he didn't jump in horror at the three cats and a labrador sitting on the street staring at his window. He didn't call Deaton, in fact his first reaction was, oh look there are three dead cats and a deceased golden retriever sitting staring at me, his second thought was more along the lines of "oh sweet zombie Jesus" followed by the concurrent thoughts that the last thing he needed was a zombie Jesus and most people didn't have to deal with this whilst in their boxers.

He would have felt more secure in pants, he was just throwing that out there. Then he sighed and let his head fall upon the window with a light thud, and wondered if pants was just too much to ask. It wasn't like he didn't put up with this supernatural shit on a daily basis, it wasn't like his life was all wolves and lizards and scares - oh my - but once, just once he'd like enough warning that he could, if he needed to, actually get dressed.

He debated closing the window, the labrador was wagging his tail at him, tongue hanging out in a sort of dry loll as if he was excited to see him. Peter's theory that this was a hedge witch who tried something, thought it didn't work when the magic went awry was looking more and more unlikely. He cast his head to the sky and said to the ceiling, "oh my fucking god, I'm Anita Blake, Vampire Humper."

By the time he had eaten breakfast and actually gone out there the three cats and labrador, which he could see now was Mitzi who belonged to Mrs Werner and had been as stupid and affectionate in life as it was in death, had been joined by a squirrel. He sprinkled salt on all them, resisting the rather overwhelming urge to pat Mitzi on the head, and released them, telling them to go back to their graves. "I think I had the wrong movie the other night," Isaac said as he watched the whole thing, crunching on an apple, the animals turned and left, even more dead eyed clearly returning to where Stiles sent them. "Clearly I meant Pet Semetary."

 

Stiles did not have Dr Deaton's number, although he knew Scott did, but phoning Scott before pretty much dark on a Saturday when he wasn't at work was an effort in futility, Canute had had more luck with the tide than he would, so he looked it up on the internet. Deaton answered the phone politely, "hey doc," Stiles said.

"Hello, Stiles," Deaton answered calmly, "is this a problem with the puppies you're looking after?"

Stiles smiled despite himself, "actually not so much, doc, you know Mrs Werner's dog, Mitzi, she showed up at my door this morning. She was there when I woke up."

"Stiles, that's not possible, Mitzi," he went quiet, there was a pause "and has Mitzi showed up there before?"

"Two days ago there was a raccoon in the yard, I'm wondering if I'm doing anything to attract them."

Across the line Deaton sighed. he suddenly sounded very tired, as if a great weight had settled on him. "I can see that it would be disturbing, why don't you come in at lunch time and we'll talk about what you're doing and what you can do to prevent it happening again."

"Thanks, Doc," Stiles said beaming, "I sent her home, as much as she'd listen to me."

"That's good, stiles, is it something you learned from dealing with another dog?" There must have been people in the clinic if Deaton was being so subtle in what he said.

Stiles laughed at that, "yeah, but it didn't take when I tried it with him."

Deaton made an acknowledging noise, "okay, then, I take my lunch between one and two, and I have no patients then, you can come then, oh, and Stiles," he paused, "is Isaac with you?"

"Making Stephen King jokes, but yes," Stiles answered.

"Bring him in too, I just got a shipment of kitty litter and I could do with a hand carrying it." Stiles laughed as Deaton hung up, because someone wasn't too proud to use werewolf strength when he could. Stiles really couldn't blame him.

It wasn't a panic attack over his morning milk, he wasn't allowed coffee ever since he had one cup and ended up on the ten fifteen to Bludhaven thinking he was the Flash and had to be driven home by his father who couldn't decide if he was worried or laughing hilariously as the way Stiles bounced off the walls of his mom's station wagon like a pinball, even with the seatbelt. It was one of those things that no one talked about, but coffee, it didn't happen again. He had milk in the morning and then soda during the day because the milk was his dad's way of making sure he drank at least something healthy. Although there were sodas that might have put him straight back into the "speed force" and all nighters that he was thankful for them. Isaac was just drinking coffee with the non dairy creamer that his dad had stolen from work and reading a ratty old paperback he had taken from the bookcase at the top of the stairs.

"D'ya think," Stiles began, "if I became a werewolf I wouldn't get so hyper."

Isaac was quiet for a moment, "I think you'd be like that werewolf thing on the Thundercats," he said, talking about the new cartoon which was awesome and not the old eighties one which was kind of embarrassing, "hyper _and_ psycho, so no, I don't recommend you getting the bite," he didn't even look up from the pages, "besides you're pack anyway." The way he said it it was as if it was something so completely normal it didn't even warrant mentioning, like horses having four legs or unicorns being gay.

"Even with Scott?"

Isaac looked up from the pages briefly, and his look was sort of patronising. "Scott can make his own decisions and you can make yours." He said, "we think you're pack and Scott's Scott." It seemed to make sense, "he can fight it but he's pack too, even if he was a dick about the Gerard thing."

"He should have told someone." Stiles agreed. He hadn't liked being left out, it wasn't like Stiles couldn't keep a secret and Scott hadn't seemed to care that Gerard had taken Stiles for the simple reason of leaving a message.

"You think Deaton has a secret agenda?" Isaac asked, eyes going back to his book.

"You mean other than being the town's mystical shaman and cat neuterer?" Stiles asked, there might be nesquik in the cupboard he thought, strawberry maybe, because this glass of milk was tasteless and he didn't really want it as it was, maybe he would if it was strawberry flavoured.

"Well, yeah, I mean he's been helping me and Scott but he won't give Derek the time of day, unless he needs to, I don't know, cut something out of him, and he knows things, and..." Isaac turned the page. "I like him, and all, but I'm not sure that I trust him, yanno?"

Stiles did know. "Look if he can stop Mitzi and her feline chorus being my wake up call in the morning I'm willing to give a little trust, aren't you?"

Isaac made a harrumphing sigh but didn't say anything, turning his cup before taking it in hand, with the handle pointed to the left and draining it. "This book really kinda sucks, by the way," he said finally.

"Then why are you still reading it?" Isaac just rolled his shoulders in a shrug as if he was asking himself that question too.

 

Isaac was still reading his book when they went to Deaton, putting it down with a scrap of paper for a bookmark, to carry the heavy bags around. Deaton welcomed them in and made tea. Perhaps he didn't know about Stiles's problem with coffee, but it was clear that either way he wasn't chancing it. He made them both tea, and sat sipping his own, whilst trying to daintily eat a sandwich in three bites or less.

"So," he said, "are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I was going to the Hale house to bring back some books I'd borrowed from Derek, I mean like "To Kill a Mockingbird" and "The Great Gatsby" and ones I was using for school and to pass on a message, it wasn't a big deal, but a raccoon started following me, and it freaked me out because I didn't know what it was, and when I got there they said that maybe I'd scared myself because they couldn't smell it until Derek saw the thing, and it was dead, I mean really clearly dead, it had been run over and was rotting dead, the thing had it's own squadron of flies dead, and Peter said that sometimes witches, especially wannabe witches do magic and it doesn't do what they think it will and the magic leaks out and that re-animating dead things is one of the easiest paths of the magic to take, so he showed me how to make them go away, and I thought that was it, but then this morning, there was Mitzi, and some cats, and a squirrel."

Deaton nodded quietly into his cup, "and when was your birthday? it was your sixteenth." The second part didn't sound like a question, but Stiles answered him. "And has there been anything else strange?"

"Well, when you gave me the mountain ash, there wasn't enough, but you told me to believe in it so I did and then there was enough."

The sound Deaton made was like Marge simpson's hmmm of disapproval. He put his tea down and got himself a calender, a piece of paper and a calculator. "Most magic runs in families," he said, "and people tend to manifest when they're six thousand days old, with their power coming into it's own when they reach ten thousand days. There are different magics which follow different rules but as a bench mark it's true." He did the math quickly, with what looked like a lot of practise. "It almost always comes from the mother's side, but magic is nothing if it's not contrary so sometimes it doesn't follow the rules," Deaton went quiet, "no, it's that sometimes there are other rules in play that we might not understand." He turned the page. "You turned six thousand days nearly three weeks ago, just after the incident at the night club. In fact," he did some more calculations from his calender, "the night of the Lacrosse game."

Stiles went to say something and then stopped.

"There was that," Isaac said, "I mean it was FUBAR before you showed up, but after that it just got strange."

"What do you mean?" Deaton said turning to him.

"Well we were fighting the kanima and losing and then Stiles showed up and hit him with his jeep and let Lydia out and Jackson stopped being all lizardy and so Derek and Peter killed him, to make sure he didn't kill anyone else, but Lydia was crying and Stiles, it looked like you said something." He stopped, "I was finding it a bit hard to concentrate, because I'd been stabbed a few times, but it did, it looked like you said something and then Jackson got up and he was a werewolf too."

Deaton made the Marge noise again. "What do you know about your mother's family, Stiles?" He asked.

"Mom's family, well, my dad calls Oma the wicked witch of the Pacific North West," Deaton smiled at that. "And other than that there's just Vati and Dick, and he lives all the way out in Gotham, although he's been abroad this last year, to find himself," the way he said that was just a hint sarcastic, "after finishing college, but Aunt Mary was killed, and she was Mom's sister, and then Mom died, and well, it's just me and Dad really, because Oma didn't like him, and well she disowned aunt Mary, there are letters and the occasional phone call but that's it, and sometimes Dick comes to stay or I go to Gotham, and there's Grunkle Stan in Oregon but we don't talk about that."

Deaton nodded. "And what do you know about your Mom?"

"Mom?" Stiles asked, "she was a lawyer, she worked on human rights cases." He answered. "She was pretty famous, you might have heard of her Anya Morozova-Stilinski."

Deaton clearly recognised the name. "So your Oma is Dorota Morozova?" Stiles nodded, "and you know why your Dad calls your Oma," he tested the word, "the Wicked Witch of the Pacific Northwest?"

"Because she's a bitch and it's a great pun..." Stiles left it open.

"And what would you do if I told you that she was the Wicked Witch of the Pacific Northwest?"

"At this point," Isaac drawled, "I'd believe it."

"So, I'm doing the Lazarus thing on the roadkill of Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked.

"Probably." Deaton agreed. "I think you need to come back when I close and I can go over this with you, but your Oma, Dorota Morozova, is one of the most powerful magic users in the Continental United States, if not the world." Stiles swallowed, "and your mother was," he stopped. "She wrote a book just after she blossomed, that's what we call it, when you reach six thousand days, and because of her mother, who was very powerful, and your Oma, it's pretty much a given that there is magic in the book, and because of it it's very sought after, I've never even seen a copy."

"My Mom wrote a book?" Stiles asked. He hadn't known that about her.

"When she was about your age." Deaton agreed, "a novel, about the Beast of Gevaudan, one of the most famous true werewolf stories."

"That was the one in France, right?" Stiles asked, "the one that ate all those women and children, but ran from men. I saw a movie about that, it had Mark Dacascos in it, and it was great."

Deaton nodded, "and has one of the most famous hunters in the world in the story, Jean Chastel. I need to make some calls, do you know what to do if any more dead things show up?" Deaton stood up and started bumbling about through the shelves of medication.

"Sprinkle salt on their heads and say I release you, return to your grave." Stiles repeated it carefully. "This isn't necromancy is it? because from everything I've read that's some bad juju."

Deaton made a sort of almost shrug. "I'll do what I can to stop it, but Stiles, you need to be careful, and come back here at six."

Stiles looked Deaton up and down, appraising him. "You're a sentinel, aren't you?" he asked then, "I mean, yeah Beacon Hills is only little, but you're our sentinel aren't you?"

Deaton looked at him with a renewed respect. "Almost, Stiles, I'm a Lightkeeper," he corrected, "I serve the Sentinels, only the top magic users are called Sentinels, the rest of us have other names. How did you figure it out?"

"Occam's razor," Stiles said, "when you've exhausted the other possibilities then whatever remains, no matter how ludicrous, must be correct."

"That's not Occam's razor," Isaac corrected. "It's not even close."

"Really?" Stiles checked, his eyes flicking upwards as he thought about.

"Really." Deaton agreed.

"Just, before we go," Stiles started, "why am I accidentally summoning dead things? because I sure as hell am not doing it on purpose."

Deaton took his cup over to his small sink, and then set the tap to drip into the empty cup. "This is how most people have magic, it's like you have a cup inside you and it dribbles in, and you use it, probably in a hundred ways you didn't know you were using it so the cup gets emptied as it fills." Stiles nodded, understanding. "but if you don't use it the cup gets full," he turned the tap on a little more, "and then it overflows, and the magic will pour out, little dribbles at first, but the more you use your magic the more the magic dribbles in, and so the bigger the overflows, until the cup gets bigger as you get older." He lifted the cup and emptied it out, "and saving Jackson was a huge piece of magic so your levels are out of sequence, it will sort itself out soon enough, but until then we need to teach you to manage your levels yourself, but that's going to take a whole lot longer than my lunch hour." He took the two cups from Isaac and Stiles, turning them upside down in the sink. "You're welcome to stay if you want to help out. I close at four today."

Stiles shook his head, "I think I need to think about this, look things up, yanno, make it straight in my head, cut out the crap."

"That's occam's razor," Isaac said, "but I can help, doc, I have nothing else for this afternoon except a crappy novel."

Deaton's smile was enigmatic. "Come back later, Stiles, I'll order Chinese."

 

\--

Jed looked at the pile of paperwork on his desk, then the small bound folders of Stiles' compositions which he had meant to return to his son. Then he looked at the paperwork again. He debated getting a fresh coffee, but the one on his desk was still hot so that excuse was gone, and he didn't need the bathroom so paperwork.

He lifted his pen.

It was quiet, he should really do his paperwork.

He sighed, and then lifted the first of Stiles' compositions because any procrastination was better than this paperwork, and people wondered how he got anything done. He wondered how he was able to stop any crime because seriously the amount of paperwork he had was baffling and he mostly had it under control, but there were days when it just sat on his desk laughing at him.

The title was clear. The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood by S Stilinski - a fiction.


	3. The tale of little red riding hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' story

The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood  
A Fiction by S Stilinski

Once there was a kind woman who loved her daughter very much. They lived in a small village at the edge of a huge forest and every day the girl and her brothers were told to not to go too deep into the forest because it was full of wolves and wolves who walked on two legs. And the girl grew up with the words in her ear, and every day she went into the edges of the woods to gather herbs and mushrooms for her family, and her mother, loving her best of all, bought her a long thick cape and dyed it with the crushed remains of beetles until it was a deep dark red, and all over the village she was known for her beauty and her wit and her dark red cloak.

The girl had no fear of the woods for she was well loved, her brothers and her parents loved her well with little gifts and trinkets to hang in her black hair, and to paint her red lips, and new shoes that shone in the afternoon light, and every day she would take her little basket and go into the woods to forage.

One day her mother called her over and into her basket she put a small loaf of bread, some honey, some cream and a pat of freshly churned butter. She wrapped her dark red cloak about her shoulders and put a matching hood upon her black hair, pinned back as it was with the ribbons her brother gave her, and kissed her on the forehead, the cheeks and finally the mouth. "You must go into the woods to the house of your grandmother," her mother said, "and bring her these things for she lives outside the village and these things are not easy to bring her." And the girl smiled and kissed her mother and said that she would. "But beware the wolves whose eyes are gold, and the bzou, who are the wolves who walk on two legs, stay only on the path of pins and go straight to her house, for there are those in the forest who will gobble you up give n the chance."

The girl knew her grandmother lived outside the village in the forest because she was a midwife and healer, and they never lived amongst the people, for there were witch hunters in those time and they could smell lies, so it was no lie to say there was no witch in their village. And the girl, with the sunshine on her new shoes, and ribbons in her hair, and her red cloak pushed back to show her white blouse and black skirt, went into the forest. With the basket hanging from her arm she went to the path of pins and followed it into the woods that she had no fear of.

The girl had a song in her heart and on her lips for even in the deep forest the day was beautiful and the girl was loved and so knew no ill.

At the place where the path forked, although both paths led to her grandmother's house, the girl saw a man in a grey coat who smiled at her. She did not know him for a bzou and so she smiled back for the man was handsome and she was well loved and knew no fear.

"Tell me," he said and his voice was like the forest itself and she smiled for him, "where it is you go with a basket on your arm and a song on your lips and in your heart?"

And she told him for she had nothing to fear in the deep dark woods. "I am going to see my grandmother who lives in these woods, I am bringing her bread, honey, cream and a small pat of butter for she lives outside the village and cannot easily come by these things."

The bzou smiled his most charming smile, "I also am going to meet your grandmother, for she and I are old friends." When he smiled he showed his teeth which were very sharp, "there are two paths," he said, "the path of needles and the path of pins, which will you take?"

The girl told him that she would take the path of needles for although her mother had told her to take the path of pins she knew that the path of needles was shorter. 

The bzou grinned his toothy grin and said that he would take the path of pins and that they would see who reached there first. 

 

The bzou raced ahead and reached the grandmother's house with time to spare, but when he opened the door, intending to eat the old woman inside perhaps, he found that the fire was dead in the grate and the window unlatched so that the leaves had come in, and the old woman had died in her bed.

Knowing that he would be blamed regardless the bzou found a broom and swept the leaves from the little house, he shut the latch on the window and pulled the blanket over the old woman's face, for she had been kind to him, but he did not build the fire in the grate for he did not know how, as for all of his appearing he was a wolf who was sometimes a man, and not a man who was sometimes a wolf. When the girl came still singing her soft and lovely song, he was sat outside on an upturned bucket. "I have grave news," he said, "it seems that your grandmother has died in the night, when I came to her house the window was unlatched and the fire was cold in the grate, I have swept away the leaves and I have covered her, but I did not build another fire for I did not know what to do."

And the girl threw back her hood which was the deep dark red of crushed beetles and showed the soft blue ribbons braided in her hair and she took a deep breath. "I shall build up the fire," she said, "for it is late, and you may sleep there on the floor by the hearth where it is warm, and we shall eat her fresh bread, honey, cream and the small pat of butter I have brought in my basket, if you will bury her as a good christian woman should be buried, and in the morning I shall return to the village to tell them, and then return here and live in her small house." And the bzou agreed to what she offered.

And that night, with a belly full of bread and honey and butter, with sweet cream to drink, the bzou lay down on an old blanket on the floor by the hearth where it was warm, with the old woman buried in a copse of trees just to the south of the house for the old woman had never been anything other than kind to him and he had thought of her fondly. And in the old woman's bed, with fresh linens sweetly scented with lavender the girl slept with her cape the dark red of crushed beetles hanging by the door.

The next morning, as the sun was cresting the hills to the east of the forest, as the woods turned the light a soft pale grey, the girl woke and climbed out of bed, and looked at the bzou curled up on the floor by the hearth. She washed and dressed quickly, but did not braid the blue ribbons from her brothers into her hair. She pulled on her blouse but not her vest embroidered with yellow daffodils and blue asters, and tied on her new shoes, which were now covered with mud. Finally careful not to wake the bzou, who looked like he needed the sleep to her young well loved eyes, she built up the fire again and took the path of needles back to the small town where she told them how the old witch had died, and she would be taking her house for she had been taught the ways to ease a birth or to set a leg, and that she was happy. And the townsfolk believed her, and giving her trinkets, such as was their way to welcome witches into their midst, she left with her basket on her arm, and a chicken in a basket from the other arm to make her supper.

The bzou waited for her in the little house in the woods and she knew she had nothing to fear from the woods or the wolves who walked on four legs or who walked on two for she had magic to save herself and a dark red cape the colour of crushed beetles to keep her warm.

As time passed she taught the bzou how to draw water from the well, and to sweep her yard, and she would sit in the single chair by the fire and sew his clothes and he would bring her braces of rabbits from the forest for her pot, and all was well. Then one night as she sat brushing out her hair, "what large eyes you have," he told her.

"All the better to see you with." She answered calmly, dragging the comb through the black curls.

"And what strong hands you have." He said.

"All the better to deliver babies and set bones." She told him.

"And what white skin you have." He complimented her.

"All the better to show a blush." She answered calmly, and tied the ribbon into the braid she used at night. "Come," she said, "there is meat in the pantry which I have softened with honey and herbs, will you eat it?" 

And the bzou went to the pantry where the plate of meat was, softly cooked and warm in the evening half light and when he lifted it into his hands a bird appeared at the window. "Do not eat that," said the bird, "for she seeks to tame you and make you her husband and no more will you be able to run in the wild woods with the earth under your feet."

And the bzou told the girl what the bird had said and she told him, "it is a silly, spiteful creature, jealous that I am so kind as to feed you soft meats and let you sleep on the floor near my hearth, throw your boot at it and it will leave." So the bzou tugged off his boot and threw it at the bird which flew away, then he ate the meat.

"There is wine in the kitchen," she said, "that I have warmed with spices and bubbles in the pot, will you have some to drink?" 

And the bzou went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of the hot wine but there was a cat there at the window. "Do not drink that," said the cat, "for she is a witch who seeks to tame you and make you her husband and no more will you be able to run in the wild woods and sing your song to the moon." 

The bzou told the girl what the cat had said and the girl laughed and said, "it is a silly spiteful creature, like the bird, jealous that I make you hot wines and let you sleep on the floor near my hearth, throw your boot at it and it will leave." So the bzou tugged off his last remaining boot and threw it at the cat who ran away. Then he drank the hot spiced wine.

When he went back into the main room the girl was in her bed, with her hair braided and her face clean of the day. "Are you tired?" she asked him "because your day was long, if you are tired you may climb into bed with me."

The bzou protested that his grey coat was dirty and he did not want to soil the bed.

"Then take it off," said the girl, "and throw it away into the fire because you will not need it any more. I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"And where shall I put my vest, lady?" the bzou asked the girl.

"Throw it on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"And where shall I put my trousers, lady?"

"Throw them on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"and where shall I put my stockings, lady?" the bzou asked the girl.

"Throw them on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"and where shall I put my blouse, lady?" the bzou asked the girl.

"Throw it on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

Then naked he climbed into the bed beside her. "Love," she said, "how hairy you are?"

And he knew the answer. "All the better to keep you warm."

"And, love, what big arms you have."

"All the better to keep you close."

"And, love, what big ears you have."

"All the better to hear you whisper."

"And, love, what golden eyes you have."

"All the better to see your beauty."

And the girl brightened under the flattery. "And, love, what a big mouth you have."

"All the better to love you with."

And no longer did the bzou sleep on a blanket on the floor near the hearth for she had made him her husband. He shared her bed and her life and thought no more of running wild beneath the winter skies with the soft earth under his paws or sing his songs to the full moon, he thought of her and the curve of her cheek and the warmth of her smile or her clever fingers sewing him clothes and they were happy.

Though time passed until the girl was no longer a girl, was a woman and then a crone until one day she lay in her bed as still and quiet and dead as her grandmother before her, and the bzou put on the clothes that she had made him, the soft wool pants and the loose blouse and the grey coat trimmed in rabbit fur, then he pulled on her cape of the deep red of crushed beetles. He tugged on his boots, fetched from the forest, and he took the path of needles into the town to tell them that their witch had died.

But the townsfolk were not like the girl and they knew him for what he was, but he was tamed and no longer fit to run under the winter sky and they caught him, and they hung him, and brought his pelt to the witch hunters to show that they knew what it was that they were to do, and they were rewarded.

For it is only in the tales that men tell that the wolf is to be feared. In the tales wolves tell they warn of the dangers of a girl with soft eyes and strong hands, and why you should not spend a night asleep on the floor by the hearth of a witch's house, for no good comes to little girls who stray off the path, or wolves who forget how to sing their songs to the moon.


	4. Chapter 4

At the door to the Stilinski house Isaac stopped- listening, it wasn't truly fair to say you got a lot of words in with a conversation with Stiles, but he did try with the occasional dry remark, and put his hand out to stop Stiles. If he had have been a dog he would have cocked his ears. "I thought your Dad wouldn't be back until eightish." He said.

"At the earliest." Stiles agreed.

"Someone's in the shower." Isaac said, "and I can smell" he sniffed the air, "lasagna?"

Stiles went quiet and started looking around but whatever it was that he was looking for he didn't see it on the street. "I doubt that someone would break in just to use our facilities and kitchen," he said and went on turning the key.

"Let me go first." Isaac said. Stiles was many things but expendable wasn't one of them.

"It's probably, dad, he probably popped in for a shower." Stiles said, discounting the danger, the way that he always did. Isaac just looked at him, he'd been working on his best Derek stare, the one that questioned your ability to survive. "Okay, the food is a bit unusual."

Inside the food was in a place in it's cooking where Stiles could smell it which suggested it was almost if not already cooked, and he could hear the shower himself, which switched off, and Isaac pressed him against the wall so he was between Stiles and the intruder, and ready to leap as the man, and it was one, came down stairs, wearing only a pair of jeans. Isaac lunged and in what looked like slow motion to Stiles he recognised the figure as it whirled and pinned Isaac to the wall by his throat in a single move. "You must be Isaac," the man said, grinning whilst his free hand took the towel from his shoulder, before rubbing his hair, and not moving the hand that had Isaac fixed to the wall, "I'm Dick, Stiles' cousin."

\---

Dick had driven into town nearly two hours previous from San Francisco, and gone immediately to the station to inform his uncle that he had arrived for a surprise visit because he knew that Stiles would probably have his headphones on and wouldn't hear him at the door. Jed had given him a key and he had taken the opportunity to make food before going upstairs for what he felt was a well deserved shower. Jed had told him all about Isaac but what he called Gotham reactions weren't easily switched off, so he was sorry about that. He spooned out the moussaka, not lasagna, proving to Stiles that werewolf senses weren't infallible, into bowls so it was split three ways, before dropping the hot oven dish into the sink.

"So," Dick said with a grin, pulling garlic bread from the grill. It was the most action that the grill had gotten in years. "Tell me all about what's happening in Beacon Hills, Tibet was wonderful but it didn't have Skype, so you have to fill me in. All about the ladies in your life, or the gentlemen if you prefer them." that was said with an eyebrow waggle and for some reason Isaac blushed right to the roots of his hair. "And of course your dearest love, Lydia."

Dick Grayson was Stiles cousin, with nearly six years between them, where Stiles had only just started high school Dick had finished college, he was closer in age to Derek, though there might have been a year or so between them, Derek could be coy about his age. To make matters worse all the little details that in Stiles were gangly and awkward had a sort of ease and fluidity in his cousin, and where Stiles had brown eyes that were beta gold in the right lights Dick's eyes were blue, but they looked enough alike that they could be brothers. Stiles didn't talk about Dick often but then it was with either worship or hate. Stiles adored him but he loved that he lived half way across the country.

"How was Tibet?" Stiles said shovelling the moussaka into his mouth. Dick made the best moussaka, Stiles didn't know what it was that he did that was different but it made all the difference.

"Cold and dusty." Dick answered with a grin. He had pulled a white tee and matching white hoodie over his jeans,and his black hair had dried in a perfect tousle. "But I'm so glad I went, four months training there and I felt like a new man."

"Dick's a martial artist." Stiles explained to Isaac. "He's really good,"

Dick just laughed "with the time I put in I'd like to think so, I'm like Inigo Montoya, after twenty years I'd like to think so, I keep telling Little Heart here to take one up but he won't listen and then falls over his own feet, but I was almost exactly the same at his age and without Aikido and Wing Chun I still would be." His grin was like the cheshire cat's but warm and inviting. "Lacrosse is all well and good, I mean look at your shoulders, Little Heart, you look like Charles Atlas, but really you can't beat the martial arts for basic agility and poise, and, well, not falling down the stairs." He struck a model pose and then stuck his tongue out.

"Why do you call him that?" Isaac asked, shy around the new person but still intrigued.

"It's his name," Dick answered, "didn't he tell you? He's our Little Heart."

"I thought it was unpronounceable." Isaac said, "and that's why he never told anyone."

"Srdecni-Draha." Dick said, blithely as Isaac looked at him like he'd sneezed. "We used to call him Sasha, but he kinda hated it."

"And still do." Stiles said, taking the now empty plates to the sink. "Hence, Stiles."

"Oma still calls me Dacha." Dick said offering him a salve, "but everyone else calls me Dick, well Vati calls me his little Dickie Bow which is even worse, but what can you do. So, you avoided the question, tell me, are you dating Lydia yet?"

"She's still going with Jackson Whittemore." Isaac said, "but he's moved to Starling City so it's on Skype and text."

"Kid's a lizard." Dick said with a sigh and Isaac and Stiles looked at each other as if to say who told him, was it you? "Never did like him, he's got colder blood than a frozen snake-sicle on a stick."

"It got worse," Stiles told him, "he got pretty, I mean like Dean Winchester pretty."

"Money and looks, who needs personality? Dick said and did a gesture with his hand that would have been a hair flick had he the hair to actually flick, instead of his hair being short and black, a sort of medium length between the length of Derek's hair and Stiles' buzz-cut. "It's not like we don't have looks and money, right boys?"

"I don't have money." Isaac grumbled.

"No, darling," Dick beamed at him, "but instead you have those curls. You wouldn't need money or personality with those curls, I prefer girls and I'm in love with those curls, and those cheekbones, ay me."

"And personality." Stiles said, "some of us just have that."

Dick burst out laughing, "yeah, money is over rated."

"It's easy to say that, Mister I am the heir to the Wayne Billions." Stiles said knocking him with his shoulder.

"It doesn't buy you happiness," Dick said in a fake stentorian voice, "but man, you shop good whilst you're feeling down."

It was Isaac that burst out laughing. Stiles didn't talk about his family much, he'd mentioned Dick before in passing, in that Dick was older, about the same age as Derek and that he lived in Gotham with the Wayne family because his parents had died and it had all gone completely FUBAR and that was as much as Stiles gave about family history, because Dick was awesome and the way that Stiles said it was confused, it baffled his scent, because Stiles clearly adored him and hated him and loved him and wanted to smash his face in with a brick, often all at the same time. Isaac didn't have any cousins, his parents were both only children, but he had had an older brother whom he worshipped and may have more than once given him swirlies so he supposed he could understand.

"Wanna go shopping? My ass barely fits in these jeans any more." He turned around in a move that would have made Lydia proud. "Because tomorrow's laundry day, right? seriously I've got my dollar bills ready."

"Dii-ick." Stiles could elongate the name, "we haven't had a laundry derby at all this year."

"You didn't replace the machines did you?" Dick looked horrified at that, "seriously, it's the best game in town."

"It's the only game in town." Stiles corrected him flatly.

"What's a laundry derby?" Isaac asked, finishing his moussaka.

Stiles mumbled something that was incomprehensible to even were ears.

"Their washer and dryer are in the basement." Dick began, "and when they go on a spin they start to judder across the floor, there are lanes and a finish line and whichever machine crosses the line first wins, then you push them back, put in another load and go again. It's a family tradition, whenever I was here on a sunday you'd go down there with a handful of dollar bills and bet on which machine would cross the line first. You need a stake up front and then the pool is shared between the winners, with a cut to the house for washing powder and electric."

Isaac grinned. "That sounds like fun, why don't we do that?"

Stiles looked at the ground, "we've been busy," he said through grated teeth, and it's a whole afternoon thing, and when's the last time we had a whole sunday afternoon?"

"Tomorrow," Dick said cutting him off, "and invite everyone, I haven't seen Scott in aaaa-ges." He dragged the word out, "and if you got shoulders, little heart, did he, or is he still a tiny little string bean?" He turned to Isaac, "and those curls, I am in love with those curls, and there's probably more than just the three of you, how about we invite Lydia, if Snakey is off in Starling City she could do with the company, I'm sure."

Isaac got the impression that Stiles didn't have a lot of say in the matter. "We could invite Derek." Isaac offered, "if he brings his laundry as well that means we get more races in."

Dick wrapped his arm around Isaac, "and why are we not related?" he asked, "now hurry up and finish, Little heart, did you not hear me, we're going to the mall before this moussaka settles on my hips," he put his hands on his hips to illustrate "and I burst out of my jeans to the delight of the ladies in Beacon Hills, Beacon Heights and Mount Shasta."

"I have something this evening," Stiles said, "I said I'd help Dr Deaton with inventory whilst Scott is on probation, he's failing a class, and..." He left it open.

"Okay," Dick said and his tone never changed from bright and warm, "I'll just go with Isaac, and possibly pick up some high school for dummies books for Scott, and then when he gets his grades back up we can all go together."

"How long are you staying?" Stiles asked and then decided that was a little rude and added a codicil, "I mean because Isaac's in the spare room and well it'll mean him bunking with me and planning ahead, because then I can get groceries on the way back from Deaton's and..."

Dick just smiled through the word vomit, and it was fond. "Only a couple of days, I'll probably be gone on Tuesday, I just wanted to call in and dominate your life for a weekend." The way he said it there was clearly a lot more going on.

"You still fighting with Bruce?" Stiles asked then.

"Haven't been back yet," Dick sighed, it was clear that he wasn't just avoiding the topic, "I'm gonna see a friend in Metropolis and so I thought I'll fly into San Fran and see Roy and Kory and then crash with Stiles before I go down there. I don't know about you, Isaac," Dick was clearly involving him in a conversation about people he didn't know, "but I always need a few days before going to Metropolis, but Clarke's cool, I'll talk to him and get my head sorted out and then go and argue with Bruce."

"I was talking to Jay the other day, we halo like once a week," Stiles said, "apparently Bruce is just a stubborn asshole. He was complaining as he's been dragged to Latveria or somewhere even though he seriously doesn't want to go, and of course Bruce knows best."

Dick grinned, "yeah, that's about it in a nutshell really, I would have liked to know he was going to adopt Jay, but that's only half the problem, I don't care that he did, just that I wasn't important enough to tell because I was all grown up and he didn't think I'd mind. And I grew up and whilst being feckless is cute in a teenager it's not so much in an adult, and well I need to find a job, that's not in the GCPD and use my degree and he doesn't care what I do as long as I'm happy, but..." he rolled his eyes, "and well, storming off in a huff to the far east didn't help."

"I'd give anything to be able to make up with my dad," Isaac said, "we were arguing when he was killed."

"And Jackson, that prick, told my dad that you'd done it." Stiles cut off, "so let's all be angry at Jackson now." That at least seemed to be something that they could all get behind.

\---

Behind Dr Deaton's house, in his garden, which now Stiles looked at it was ringed with mountain ash trees, and had a very healthy herb garden going, there was a small wooden shack, a shed really, and that was where Deaton took him. "This is made entirely of mountain ash," he said opening the door, "no magic gets in, and no magic gets out," he said flicking on the electric light, but the way this was going Stiles had expected candles, but the shed was laid out like a sitting room, complete with standing lamps, two comfortable armchairs, shelves of books and a small radio. There was even a hutch in the cupboard, laden with bowls and candle sticks. "What it means is that whatever happens in here stays in here, you don't have to worry about hurting people whilst you learn, you can mess up safely." Stiles nodded. He hadn't realised that this would be a problem. "And there's also this." He pulled out a large box of salt, "most magic can be neutralised with salt if you use enough of it. Now take a seat."

Stiles sat in one of the armchairs, his entire posture was stiff and he was looking at the floor which had a large circle drawn on it in white paint, complete with all sorts of alchemical signs. "I'm trying to decide where to start." Deaton said quietly. "Would you like some tea?" There was a kettle and some cups in the shed, and to Stiles' surprise a small sink, hidden behind a screen. It was a reasonably large shed in fact, it was almost an outbuilding.

"Dick showed up today," Stiles said, "like magic, I mention him to you, and whoosh, he appears, is that a thing?"

"Inconvenient relatives?" Deaton said with a smile, "if it is it's the first I've heard of it, but I imagine it would be a curse not a spell. Teleportation however, there are people who can do that." He carried over the tea to Stiles who took a deep breath of it, it smelled of apples and cinnamon. It was warming beyond the heat of the cup. "What do you know about magic?" He continued, taking his own seat. The two chairs didn't match and looked like they had come separately from Craigslist, they were really comfortable looking if incredibly ugly, and Stiles got the impression that they were expendable.

Stiles opened his mouth, nothing came out. "I didn't get a chance to do any research but I know magic is real." That seemed safe.

"Okay," Deaton said, "let's start from the very beginning." His smile was just slightly enigmatic. "The first rule of magic, just like physics, is that you get nothing for nothing, everything has a cost, we call this equivalent exchange. You get what you give, but the price might not be what you imagined. Let's say you were making a cup of tea, what would you need?"

"Hot water, a tea bag?" Stiles asked, quite convinced this was a trick question.

"A cup wouldn't hurt either," Deaton agreed, "but that's it, everything that goes into a cup of tea is necessary, but by combining them you get tea, so I started with ginger, cinnamon and dried apple, added water and put it in a cup so it became tea."

"That's not magic." Stiles said.

"No, but that's how magic works. You put ingredients in and you get ingredients out, the problem with magic is that not all things are equal, but the energy that comes from it comes from you. So that night when you laid down the mountain ash the only reason it worked was because of you, you believed in it and so it was. That trust was the spark that stopped it being a circle of ash and became a barrier, do you understand?" Stiles nodded, "but there is always a cost, that trust cost you something, you CHOSE to accept it and you were rewarded for your faith." Stiles nodded again, understanding.

"That's the first rule, you must accept that there is a price for magic, even if it looks like you're doing something effortlessly there is always a cost and it's often much higher than you thought you would pay. Now, what happened with Jackson?"

"He was dead, and then he wasn't." Stiles said.

"And how did that make you feel? him dying."

Stiles looked into his tea before he answered. "Lydia was crying, I remember thinking I'd give up anything if it would stop her crying, I'd give her up if it would make it stop, that I would do anything to bring him back so she wouldn't cry any more. She loved him and I thought that that would hurt more than it did." The words were easy now he thought about it.

"Could you say you were willing to give up your love for her?" Deaton seemed oddly interested in that, Stiles nodded again, "and how do you feel about her now?"

The realisation bloomed across Stiles' face. "I did that?" he asked. It was Deaton's turn to nod, slowly with his enigmatic half smile, "fuck."

"There are seven types of magic, Stiles, three that serve order, three that serve chaos, and wild magic." Stiles nodded, thinking he should have a notepad to take all this down. he wasn't even sure if there was going to be tests. He got the feeling there was going to be some sort of hideous pop quiz at the end. "Each one has a balance, an inverse, except wild magic, because wild magic is order and chaos."

"Sort of how you get something that works for all stains, and it's awesome at getting out blood and grass stains but you're always left with barbeque sauce, so it always works except when it doesn't?" Stiles wanted to stare at himself in horror for that question.

"Actually yes," Deaton said, "Sorcery is will, either the will to create or destroy, but it is done either in the service of order or chaos, but there are rules for example you can not uncreate. You could blow something up, but you couldn't remove it from the universe, and you can't create something out of nothing, you can change something to create it, but you can't just pull it out of the air."

"Because it would destroy the universe?" it was almost a question.

Deaton agreed, "and then there is magic which is either using the power of gods or demons, some demons serve order and some gods chaos." Stiles nodded, understanding this vaguely. "And the last is witch craft which uses the natural world. We separate them depending on their affiliation."

"Like in D&D?" Stiles asked, "like you can be lawful chaotic good, or something."

"Sort of, more a wiccan uses witchcraft to help people and creates energy but a warlock uses it to take energy." Deaton seemed at home explaining this, which made Stiles wonder why he was a vet. "When you used the mountain ash that was witchcraft. Mountain ash naturally repels magic, just as hawthorn aids it. There is always a balance."

"Oh, like in Night Watch, where the night watch could only do good if the day watch had done something evil and vice versa, like a vampire could feed on someone if a light sorcerer had cured them of cancer."

"I have no idea what that is." Deaton said, "but in a vague sense, yes. Here's an easier example. There are four types of werewolves, the first are wolves that think that they are men, they have the body of a wolf but the mind of a man, the wolves deal with these. The second are men that they think that they are wolves, we call them lycanthropes and they tend to end up in asylums. Then you get wervolk and loup garou, a _wervolk_ is a man who becomes a wolf and loses control at the full moon, they eat people and are what hunters chase, but the _loup garou_ is a wolf who has become a man and they are in control of their wolf for the most part."

"So Derek is a _loup garou_?" Stiles asked.

"Yes, but there are wervolk out there who don't know that they turn into wolves and eat human hearts and over the years the hunters lost sight of this distinction. Not that Derek and his pack aren't dangerous, but they're dangerous because they're human, not because they're wolves, do you understand?"

Stiles nodded, "like how Peter went after the people who burned his family, a wolf wouldn't do that, he did that because he is human, but the other one, the _wervolk_ , it would have just killed everyone around it?"

Deaton nodded, "they seem the same but they're not, it's the same with magic, they each have a mirror self, a reverse."

"Except Wild Magic?" Stiles was pretty sure of that.

"Except Wild Magic." Deaton agreed. "Because Wild Magic is the barbeque sauce, all the rules go by the way for Wild Magic, it is what it is and it does what it does."

"And the other ones, they have to be taught, don't they, you don't wake up one day and know what herbs have power or what gods will let you use theirs, right?" It was clear that Deaton could see where the boy was going, "and so I'm doing this Wild Magic, aren't I?" Deaton nodded. "So what happens now?"

"Well, you can come here when you like to practise, to empty your cup and stop it spilling over and gain some control over what you do." Stiles nodded, "but there are rules I want you to follow because Wild Magic is very rare and so people will try to use it and you even without you being there." Stiles had waited for that part, because nothing was ever that easy. "Stop cutting your hair." That was the first rule, "keep a bit of length to it, so when you do cut it you can control what happens to the left over hair, and then burn it. Finger nail, toe nail clippings, band aids, bandages, everything I want you to burn them, saying "I give this to the fire of my own free will". If you take a bit of me-time, do it in the shower and afterwards say "I give this to the water of my own free will." If you have a partner use a condom and burn it when you're done, until you have full control of your magic it will be a liability to leave even the faintest thing someone can use, so destroy it, give it to the fire or the water or the air."

Stiles nodded, drinking his tea. "Are we going to do magic now?"

Deaton got out of his chair and put three candles on the floor, standing them up in a line. "This is your first exercise," he said, "concentrate on the central candle and light it and only it."

"How?"

"It's your magic." Deaton said and pulled a fire blanket out of one of the drawers, "figure it out."


	5. Chapter 5

When Stiles got home he was exhausted and he had only been with Deaton for three hours. He was also a little singed around the edges. Fire it seemed loved him, it was happy to leap to his word, control, not so much. Every time Deaton smothered the fire with the blanket he just said something like "Stiles, you're here to learn, you're doing very well in just summoning the fire, control will take time," then when the fire was gone, he would either stand up what was left of the candles, or, more often, replace them entirely, and told him when he was ready to start again.

When he got in it was clear that Dick and Isaac had been at the mall, and that Isaac was showing off his new clothes, when really all Stiles wanted was about a litre of mountain dew and his bed. He kind of suspected that that wasn't going to happen.

He popped his head in, and then Dick appeared out of nowhere. He was still convinced that Dick had the rare power of teleportation or at least inconvenient relatives that appeared when you said their name was a thing. "Oh my god," Stiles said into the arm that appeared out of nowhere to hug him, "you are the devil," and Dick just laughed, warm and carefree and innocent and pulled him tighter.

"Your Oma called when you were out," Isaac said, pulling on his new chucks, "she wants you to call her back tomorrow."

But Dick just talked over him, "am I the devil for just wanting to hug my little cousin tighter and tighter until his eyes pop out? Am I the devil for getting him a brand new hoodie, in his favourite colour no less?" It was draped over the back of the sofa and was bright, scarlet, lipstick red. Isaac just grinned at that, all wolf and mischief. "And am I the devil for talking to Isaac and finding out that there are only three clubs within driving distance and only one is worth the effort? And am I the devil for offering to take two underage boys to that club and drive them home again knowing that they can have their curfew lifted because they are with a reasonably responsible adult?" He paused, sniffing Stiles, "am I the devil for insisting you go upstairs and shower because that vet clearly had you cleaning out his incinerator?"

 

When Stiles came down later, in the clothes that had been laid out on his bed, which included a pair of jeans that just fit and had only fastened when he had lain on the bed and wriggled, a worn in French Connection UK tee that blazoned FCUK ME on it, and a satin letterman jacket with a geisha under a tree on the back, both Dick and Isaac were downstairs dressed and waiting on him. It was a lilac colour with white sleeves with a thick violet stripe down the white fabric. It was obviously a very expensive jacket. Dick was wearing a white tee with a matching white hoodie, with a wolf on the back, and Isaac looked hot in a form fitting tee and his own leather jacket. "You do know," Stiles said sitting on the stairs to tie his chucks, which someone had switched the laces out on him, so one was white and the other was the same lilac colour as his jacket, "that the only decent club around here is Jungle and it's a drag club." He didn't word it like a question.

"Girls," Dick said in a rather good impression of Rupaul, "do I look like the kind of lady who has never dressed with style?" He ran his hand down the length of his torso, "Do I not look Fabulous?"

Isaac burst out laughing and then glomped him. It was a true glomp, the sort not seen outside magical girl anime, with leg cocked and everything. And Dick just grabbed him back, enjoying the hug for all it was worth, even though Stiles knew from past experience that Isaac's random hugs were often rib breakingly tight. "Oh, pup," Dick said, "your curls will be the death of me," and that was that, it was just funny after that that Isaac was like the "totally hidden predator" from that Dinosaurs show that the Disney channel used to run repeats of, but he'd just use his werewolf stealth for hugs.

 

In the jeep Dick changed out Stiles' MP3 player for his own which was black with a punk Hello Kitty Decal across the back instead of the usual apple logo. He had put on a playlist of uptempo dance tracks that were heavy on remixed disco and were all at least a few years out of date. There was a punky overtone to it, but cover or not, there was something liberating and just a little silly about singing along with "I will survive."

The three of them were like one of those internet gifs with the pasted on celebrity heads bobbing, and even though Stiles was tired and a little frustrated at Dick's general Dickness and the fact that everyone always adored him and ignored Stiles even Stiles' own friends, it was kinda glorious.

And even Jungle was kinda glorious when it was with Dick because the guy at the door didn't even question them, just opened the door to show them inside and that was a first, and he even looked Stiles up and down like he liked what he saw, which was just a kid in a borrowed jacket and jeans so tight that they creaked when he sat down. The club was bouncing and bodies were moving and Dick just pushed him further into the fray, moving intently towards where the bar was buried under people and Depeche Mode was almost loud enough to lose himself. It might make him loathe his cousin a little more for about the five minutes anyone could loathe Dick but he'd been right, this was exactly what Stiles needed.

"Baby boy!" And dammit if Gloria Mundi, who Stiles secretly thought had the best drag name ever, didn't come flying over, Kylie Minogue gold hot pants and what looked like nine inch heels notwithstanding, and did a more feminine form of Isaac's patent pending glomp so Stiles' face got shoved into her breastplate. "You should have told us you were coming, we would have been fabulous for you, all Dynasty realness and I would have used the last of my Elizabeth Arden lipstick because you, baby boy, are worth it, even thought I totally switched from Viva Glam to Benefit." The worst bit was, Stiles thought, that he understood exactly what she was talking about.

"Suprise." Stiles started, "my dad had words about the last time I hung out with your girls, apparently," he leaned in to shout it in her ear, "I'm to take the makeup off BEFORE I get home this time, because pan stick doesn't come out of pillow cases."

And Gloria just laughed. "Are you going to introduce a girl to your friend?" She asked.

"You've met Is..." Stiles stopped, Isaac had vanished into the crowd. It was his super power, he just sort vanished into the background if it looked like he might have to be sociable, "And this is Dick."

"Baby boy!" Gloria chided, shouting to be heard over the music, "you've been holding out on me, hiding this beautiful Dick from us."

Dick grinned at her, "Life sized and fully articulated too," he said, "now what's this about pan stick?"

Gloria slipped her arms around the two of them, "come on, honey, have we a story for you?"

Stiles shucked her grip with a remarkably practised maneouvre, "I'm just gonna go find Isaac, okay, I'll catch up with you."

He spent some time dancing with Isaac, shrugging off male attention, and maybe being flattered by a pair of lesbians who thought that they were just adorable, before the two of them made their way to Gloria's table where Dick was holding court amongst the drag queens. When he saw Stiles he stopped, holding out a bottle of unopened water which was exactly what Stiles wanted. His time with Deaton and then dancing in the hot club had left his throat really dry, and he just squeezed in beside him. He popped the lid on the water and drank almost half of it in a single swallow. "We were just discussing your drag name." Dick shouted over the music, "apparently Sasha Fierce is out because Beyonce beat you to it."

"It's like he was on the moon." Daisy shouted back.

"I keep telling you," Dick answered, "I was in Tibet." And the queens laughed like they'd heard it all before.

"What did you decide on?" Isaac shouted over the music, although it was possible with his hearing he didn't need them to shout at all.

"Twinkie Divine." Gloria suggested.

"No, darling," Agnes corrected, sipping at her cocktail in a fashion that was pure southern grande dame, "Babygirl, and we'll make him a little sailor suit cheerleader thing, with the blonde wig, and I have just the boots."

And Stiles laughed because they'd been arguing over his drag name ever since they met him. He got the impression it was a thing, that they just plain enjoyed it. "I thought you went for Talula Belle." He shouted back over the music.

"Talula Cockhead." Dick shouted out and they all burst out laughing. "And I'm Robin Houses." He was utterly shameless.

"Oh look," Daisy called out, "Baby Boy, your boy is here." The crowd always parted for Derek, it was like something from one of his dad's old Charlton Heston movies, the crowd would part like the red sea and there in jeans and leather jacket was Derek. As the DJ realised what was happening the music changed to something darker, sexier than the usual disco dance number. The last time he had been here it had been "touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me", so clearly the threat had worked that time.

"He's not my boy," Stiles shouted back.

Agnes cackled with laughter, "he comes here every time you do, honey," she said, "if he's not your boy he definitely should be, do you need tips?"

"Can I have him then?" Gloria asked, "the things I could do with that boy."

"Like dipping him in Nair?" Isaac asked with a grin. And because of that they were all laughing when Derek reached the table. A lesser man might have been offended but instead Derek maintained the same stone face that could mean anything from "I am going to rip your throat out to my teeth" or "you are the funniest thing I have ever seen, on the inside I'm dying from laughter" or "there is something stuck to my shoe which smells bad." Stiles was never sure which was which, they all looked the same to him.

Stiles slithered out of the booth to talk to him, Dick didn't need to know about Derek's hearing. "Why are you here?" Stiles shouted into his ear as they moved into the dance floor.

"I thought that you needed rescued." Derek shouted back, because of the volume of the music they were pressed against each other, it might have looked to other people that they were even dancing. Derek had his hand on the back of Stiles' borrowed jacket. "Isaac texted something about some dick."

Stiles laughed, "see the guy in the white hoodie," he told him, "That's my cousin, Dick."

An actual emotion flickered across Derek's face. "His name is Dick?" It was genuine confusion.

"Yeah, it's short for Richard, it's a thing." Stiles shrugged it off. "He was away, he's just come back so he's visiting, we're having family time."

Derek looked abashed, maybe, or constipated. This close Stiles could tell how good he smelt, like the forest and sandalwood, and maybe he was sniffing like a werewolf, but he was unashamed, god even the leather smelt good. "So you don't need rescued."

"Good god, yes," Stiles said, "and pancakes, and chocolate malt, let's blow this joint." Stiles even had the gall to wave as he went out with Derek leaving Dick and Isaac behind in the club with the drag queens.

 

Lazy Susan's Diner wasn't actually called Lazy Susan's, but everyone called it that because it was owned by a woman called Susan who happened to have a lazy eye. Even Susan called it that, but they did the best peaches and cream malt in Northern California, if not the state entire. She also did pancakes all day with real maple syrup and butter cream all day long, and her diner was open 24 hours. "What's so bad about your cousin?" Derek asked, sitting across the table from him. Derek was drinking coffee, black without sugar, but there was still a spoon in the cup, because clearly gouging one's eye out accidentally wasn't an issue if you were a werewolf.

"He's perfect, really, he's like that song, my perfect cousin." He said, "no really, he's perfect and..." he stopped, "I like him better when he's not here." Derek nodded as if he understood, which he couldn't possibly because he hadn't actually spoken to Dick. "He's just," he stopped. "Everywhere and everyone loves him, and he bought me these clothes because he could and..."

"You look nice." Derek said, which he suspected as soon as the words had left his mouth was completely the wrong thing to say judging by the horrified expression on Stiles' face.

"I think he's stolen Isaac." He said, "they went shopping when I went to Deaton's and, I don't know, I mean I spent hours with Deaton and all I wanted was to crash, and then they said they were going out and all of my friends just fawn on him and he's awesome so they just hover around him and..."

"They're your friends." Derek said.

"Exactly, and I hate that I'm jealous, because he is awesome and he's here because he's going through a bad time with his guardian and...." Stiles sucked the last of his malt out of the glass with a horrid slurping sound. "I get it, he just wants to forget and enjoy himself for a few days but..." He swirled the straw through what was left of his milkshake, "I like it better when he's in Gotham. When he's there and we're just on the phone or skype, he's awesome, and he listens and then he gets here and everyone's all over him because he's just awesome and I hate it. And he makes these plans which include everyone and I never get a choice."

Derek clearly had no idea what to say or do. "Do you want me to rip his throat out?" he asked, and Stiles laughed because of course Derek was joking.

"He'll be gone in a day or two, I can nut up, and handle this. I mean, I can always smother him in his sleep."

At that Derek laughed, it wasn't the full bodied belly laugh he'd gotten when he'd thrown the raccoon, but it was a laugh. "Laura was like that," he said, "my friends always liked her better than me too. It sucked."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "when there's just the two of us, he's so awesome, he listens and he has good advice and... then he's dating a supermodel and it's all over TMZ that he's been seen out with Kory Anders, or he's been clubbing with Paris Hilton or, and I can't just stop falling over my own feet."

This clearly wasn't Derek's forte, he had no idea how to comfort Stiles, and Stiles obviously wanted comfort. Chasing down and threatening him was the easy answer but it clearly wasn't the right one. "I'm sorry," Stiles said, "this isn't, I just needed to get out of there, yanno." Derek didn't say anything because he knew if he did he'd get it hideously wrong and make everything that much worse. "And Deaton says I have this wild magic from my mom, and I spent a couple of hours with him making his work room explode because I don't have any control and he was cool about it, said it was okay that this happened and that's why he had the fireblanket and I don't fucking know, Derek, it's just... everything's gone to shit and there are these alpha werewolves out there lurking in the dark and being ominous just by leaving graffiti like it's some kind of thing, like supernatural tagging and seriously if it turns out "Kevin was here" is some kind of vamp signal." And Derek sniggered because it was funny. And Stiles looked at him like something made sense and then he was laughing too, but it sounded a little desperate. "And I don't want you to meet him because you'll like him better too and then you won't need me because you'll have him because he's like me, just better."

"Stiles," Derek said, and his voice was even. "I'd have to like you first."

For a second Stiles looked hurt and then he got it and laughed, "asshole." He said and everything was alright between them. "See if I let you rip my throat out with your teeth." And then Derek laughed too. "And he calls me Sasha."

"Well call him, I don't know, assface then." And Stiles smiled and it was a warm and genuine smile, "I mean you can't get much worse than Dick can you?"

"There's Derek." And after that the conversation was comfortable and easy, about simple things, like pan stick not coming out of cotton, but maybe he could try dishwashing detergent because it was what his mom swore by, and there was fond smile there, and maybe it was going to be okay, and more of Lazy Susan's amazing peaches and cream malt because Stiles couldn't have coffee, and Derek knew that there was a story behind that but he'd never heard it, and then somewhere in the middle of their talking the sun started to come up. "My dad's going to be pissed." Stiles said a bit blandly, "out all night with a gorgeous man, it's a good thing these jeans are so tight, I don't need a chastity belt."

And Derek laughed again, "Come on, I'll drive you home."

 

When Stiles got in Dick was getting ready for a run. He was wearing sweats and loading things into the smallest rucksack that Stiles had ever seen. "Hey kiddo," Dick said as Stiles pulled his jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair, "you get everything sorted?"

"I," Stiles suddenly felt guilty. He'd ditched Dick in a place where he didn't know anyone and he was his cousin.

"I get it," Dick's grin was a mirror of Stiles' own, but warm and genuine, it brushed everything under the carpet. "Man, this jet lag has me up at all hours. I'm going to go for a run, you can come with if you're not too tired."

"I'm wasted." Stiles said, sitting at the kitchen table to tug off his shoes, "I was a," he stopped cutting himself off, "an asshole last night, sorry."

"He's hot," Dick said and shoulder bumped him, "for a werewolf."

Stiles' eyes went wide, "who? what? where did you hear that? werewolves aren't real?"

At that Dick laughed, "like I couldn't figure it out on my own, Sasha," he said through the laughter, "I'm from Gotham. It barely blips on the weirdest things I've seen. Seriously these last few years people don't believe someone got mugged there unless it's by a one eyed, one horned flying purple people eater." His smile was so warm and genuine that Stiles felt even more guilty, "just promise me this, kiddo, would he deliberately do anything to hurt you?" Stiles shook his head. "Then I won't have to kick his ass." He adopted a more vapid look, "do you think he'd be prepared to spar? seriously, I could do with kicking the shit out of something."

And it was deliberately aimed so that Stiles would laugh, but instead he just out got of his chair and hugged Dick tight. "Don't ever change." He said. "Now I'm going to bed, before Dad gets up and wails on me for being out all night."

"He knows." Dick said reaching the back door, "you're in for it later." That was said with a laugh. He opened the door, swinging back, "and Sasha, no matter what they say about being immune to diseases, use protection." Then he ducked back out of the door laughing. Stiles reacted like any family member would, he threw his shoe at him.

Then he practically crawled up the stairs, trying to avoid the creaky floorboard that lived to report his comings and goings to his dad, failing miserably, and then opening the door and shucking off his clothes, before climbing into his bed, which was full of Isaac because Dick was there bogarting Isaac's room even though he wasn't even in the house, and Isaac just rolled over and left him a huge amount of blanket and it was okay. Stiles could cope with this.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek saw the figure in the white jacket and black sweat pants not long after he heard him coming up the path, earbuds in and a black ipod strapped to his arm. He was on his way to bed when the figure came over the hill very deliberately running to the Hale house.

Derek just pulled his henley back on, stomped his feet into his boots and went down to meet him. Considering he had run here from the town Stiles' cousin, Dick, didn't look tired. "Hey," he said, stopping. "I was kinda hoping we could spar." The grin that Dick offered him was a mirror of Stiles' own. "There is literally nothing here and well, I could do with the stretch."

"I don't know you." Derek said and went to go back to the house.

"But I know you." Dick's tone was light and bouyant, "and you're probably the only person here I won't accidentally break if I don't hold back, I'm not asking for a life commitment, just a spar, you know, mano a lupo."

"He told you?" Derek was surprised by that so it came out like a question. He didn't think that either Stiles or Isaac would have ever revealed the secret, and as far as he knew Dick hadn't seen Scott yet. Scott was the kind of person who'd tell a complete stranger without thinking about it.

"Didn't need to, I'm from Gotham." He stopped, then bent over, undoing some sort of straps on his legs, "I know what it's like to keep a secret, and from there it was just a matter of counting the dots. Animal attacks, arrests for unlicensed heavy weapons, it was either weres or mutant cats." Even the way he talked was just like Stiles, "and I'm still not ruling out the cats, the one next door to Stiles, that thing's plotting world domination." Derek couldn't really argue with that, that cat was evil. It watched everyone and everything on that street as if planning exactly how to take them down. "I'm willing to trust him on this, if he says you're not going to eat him then you're not, but I have a ton of unspent aggression and I've been channelling my anger into my fists for years, I'd really like the opportunity." He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "If you think you can take me."

Derek laughed. He outright laughed. "You have no idea." He said.

Dick grinned and slipped the backpack off his shoulders, then from it he took a stick, which was folded like a white cane, and snapped it out, twisting the links to hold them in place. It was a solid looking bo. "Well, you seem a decent fellow, I hate to beat you." Derek recognised the reference, it was one of Stiles' favourite films.

"You seem a decent fellow, I hate to be beaten." And that was how their spar started.

 

Fifteen minutes later they were sat together on the edge of the patio drinking gatorade from Dick's pack. Peter was sat against one of the support pillers with an ice pack against his nose. Neither of them was quite sure when he had gotten involved only that Dick had spun and thrown him hard enough against a tree he'd knocked him out cold. "You fight like the devil." Derek told him, when they stood facing each other and panting. And Dick just raised his hand, palm up fingers curled and beckoned. "So, I'm thinking Stiles doesn't know your secret, does he?"

Dick grinned. "He knows I can fight and tumble." He said, "but if he doesn't know then..." he stopped, "I suppose it's why he doesn't tell his dad about you, if he doesn't then it's not real, and he's not involved."

"He's a good kid," Derek said in a low voice and Dick laughed again.

"We grow up so fast when we get involved, he's only a kid legally, you and I both know that, but you break his heart, wolfie, and I'll break both your legs, a couple of times over."

Peter snickered from his place. "Kid'll kill him before you get to him." he said from under the icepack.

Dick conceded the point. "I'm going to warn you though," Dick began, "Stiles is my only family, and I love him to pieces, because that's what happens when you're family, and we're enough alike that we sometimes drive each other mad, but he trusts you and that's a big deal, you get that, right?" Derek nodded but said nothing, "he's a Hufflepuff." Derek had a wild eyed look like he had no idea what that meant. "Scott's a Gryffindor, he shows up at the last minute and saves the day but is a bit dim really, he's always there at the last minute to save the day, and that Jackson kid, well he's a Slytherin, he's out for himself but he'll come through if you need him to, after he's fucked it all up for you. Lydia, well if she's still half as smart as she was the last time I was here, she's a born Ravenclaw, but Stiles, he's a Hufflepuff and that's the absolute best house to be, because he's loyal, you're never getting rid of him, he's in for the long haul because he chooses to be, and if you fuck that up, I will fuck you up so bad that they'll need Star Labs to identify you." The way his hand went back to his bo suggested he was more than capable of it. "And I'll pay them off so they don't," he lay back against the floor of the patio, "and just, use protection." He added. Peter made a noise that could have been a choke or a laugh or a combination of the two. "He's had it hard, and he says you won't deliberately hurt him, and just because you can't catch syphillis doesn't mean you're not a carrier, capice? and I've seen more strange things in my life than pregnant men."

Derek was bright red. "We're friends." He protested.

"Whatever you say," Dick shrugged it off. "Just remember, kid's like a stubborn badger with something to prove, and don't try to exclude him just because he's a fragile human, seriously, that's like the worst excuse ever, speaking as one myself."

Derek looked everywhere but at Dick. It was almost comical to behold. Peter certainly thought so. "You know why Batman's Stiles' favourite superhero, I mean you're only a couple of hours drive from Metropolis and Superman, but he worships Batman," Derek just took another mouthful of gatorade, not trusting himself to say anything. "Because he's a fragile human, and speaking from experience he can take down all the heavy hitters in the Justice League because he's smart, and when they try to stop him using his powers he's all ha! I don't have any bitch, except in Batman speak which is like, ....." Peter was laughing completely now, in fact he seemed to be struggling to breathe. "And he saw him once, when we were in the car, he sort of zipped past."

"I saw the Teen Titans once." Derek said, "in New York, when me and my sister went into the city for a show."

Dick coughed. "Wow, I've never seen them in action." Even to him it sounded weak.

"I just bet you haven't." Peter drawled in the back.

"I'm just saying, perhaps the greatest strength he has is that he's not a wolf, and he is a fragile human, because as the saying goes, if you've only got a hammer, sooner or later every problem starts to look like a nail." He ran his hands through his hair. "I'm just about ready to crash now, jet lag has utterly made me it's bitch." He sighed, "here, let me tell you a story, one about baby Stiles, he was about three or four at the time, it was just after my parents died and he and his Mom came up to see me, and I was starting school that day so she took Stiles to Gotham Zoo, and they went on the train, because his mom was like that." He stopped and took a deep breath, "and it being Gotham the train was held up, and the man who did it was called Waylon Jones, he's better known now as Killer Croc, but then he was just a hood with a skin condition." He paused again, "I got this story from my guardian who was told it by my aunt, and do you know what Stiles did?" Derek said nothing. "He asked him if it hurt, he said sometimes he got bad skin on his arms and it hurt and he had some cream for it, and he offered Killer Croc the cream."

"What happened?"

"Killer Croc took the cream, asked them where they were getting off, and Stiles told him the zoo because they were going to see the zebras, so when their stop came around he let the two of them off, the rest of the people in their carriage were held for hours, it was a huge deal with Gotham SWAT and possibly Batman and all sorts of things, but he let Stiles and his Mom go. That's why I'm telling you not to underestimate him, because he did something that day no one'd ever done before or since, he didn't pity Croc or shy away from him, he offered him help, and that's still a really big deal. He wasn't scared, or freak out because the guy does look like a crocodile, he gave him what help he could. So it doesn't surprise me he's hanging with werewolves," he stopped, "man, I feel like I'm made of noodles I'm that tired, sorry to wail on you when I'm not at my best, I was almost embarrassing I was that bad."

Peter made a broken defeated sound, not unlike the one he'd made when he'd hit the tree, and tested out the healing on his nose. "This hasn't set crooked has it?" he asked waggling it back and forth between his forefinger and thumb.

Derek shook his head. "He says he trusts you," Dick said sitting up and then emptying his bottle of gatorade in a few long swallows, "and I'm going to trust that, but..." he stopped. "I've got your number, wolfie, remember that, and I can fly in at any time. And the two of you your ass just got handed to you by a puny fragile human, one with jetlag." He stood up, stretched, and then took the weights back from his backpack, tying them around his ankles to jog back to the Stilinski house. "Just saying is all." He winked at him, "and for the love of Grodd, use protection. Alien STDs are bad enough, imagine trying to explain a magical one to his dad."

Peter was still laughing when Dick faded from sight.

\---

When Stiles woke up in his bed he was bookended by two other people, Isaac on his left and Dick on his right. His first thought was something along the lines of how natural this felt. His second was worrying if the bed could take it. The third thought was that he was too hot, and the fourth was that he really needed to pee. "G'back sleep." Isaac mumbled into his shoulder. He climbed his way out and watched as both Isaac and Dick sort of rolled in to fill the gap he had left. He was past sleeping anyway. He went into the bathroom, showered quickly, and then took his adderal, it was bad enough Dick being here without it, because seriously Dick was all go all the time.

When he checked his phone, which was still in the pocket of Dick's jacket, there was a single text. "meeting w/ a on, kk in claus'." Derek was paranoid that his texts were going to be intercepted so instead of actually writing what he meant it was all in shorthand that could mean anything, though in this case it meant that the truce meeting with the Argents was still go, and they had arranged it, by Peter's albeit very good suggestion, in Clausonville's karaoke bar, that had a strict no alcohol policy and so did a roaring trade with the minors of about four local towns. And Stiles was of the opinion that no one needed liquor to get up and do a tone deaf version of a Selena Gomez song when there was pepsi max in the world.

The suggestion for the venue had, surprisingly, come from Peter when Derek asked for some place that was public and wouldn't question a group of teens sitting with at least one adult. The karaoke bar, KK, was used to such sights as for years the kids who had come here had been driven by reluctant parents.

And their wings were awesome.

His dad was sat in the kitchen with his paperwork in front of him. He took one look at Stiles, in jeans and a tee, with two layered shirts over it because he was a bit cold, and then sighed. "Just tell me you used protection."

Stiles blushed right to the roots of his buzz-cut. "Dad!" he protested, "I went out with Dick."

"And then you ditched him." The eyebrow raised just a fraction, just enough to be querying without going full on Mr Spock.

"I went to Lazy Susan's, I had milkshake and pancakes, I needed to have a good whine." He explained. "Nothing happened."

The eyebrow hitched up another couple of millimetres, then Jed sighed. "Do you know what your mom would have said if she'd heard you ditched your cousin to spend the night with a hot man in a leather jacket?" Stiles could tell the description was Dick's.

Stiles was quiet for a moment. "Get out of my way, I saw him first." He offered.

Jed laughed, "okay, that too." He said, he took a mouthful of his coffee. "She'd say if you were old enough to do it you were old enough to deal with the consequences. Mind you I'd prefer it if you never did it but I can understand that although to me you're always going to be my little baby wearing diapers and putting the pot on his head and shouting that he was dockor fay" Stiles sat at the kitchen table with a groan. "I just want to know that you're being responsible about this, that you're using protection." He stopped and frowned into his coffee. "And remember that Hale kid has had a hard life, so he might not always mean to be a dick so you can't just break up with him like that."

At that Stiles spoke. "Hey, you're my dad, aren't you supposed to be worried about me?"

"Kid," Jed leant across the table, "if he breaks your heart you have me and Scott, unless Allison's about, and Dick, and we can always send you to that farm in Kansas to get over it, he doesn't have that."

"Seriously, he breaks my heart and I get sexiled?" He asked, "going to milk the cows for the Kents," he took a breath, "we're not dating, or anything. If i need protection around him it's more likely to be my lacrosse pads because I'll fall on the way to his house. Dad, trust me, we're not."

Jed clearly didn't believe him. "I know I agreed to you and Isaac going to KK tonight, and it's been planned for weeks which is the only reason you're not grounded right now for staying out all night without telling anyone." He put his empty cup down, "the fact is you're my son and I love you and I know you, and I also knew your mother and know the size of the flea she'd put in my ear if I had a problem with this. She's right, it's your decision, and I reserve the right, as your dad to shoot him if he hurts you, but you're like her, and you wouldn't let him hurt you. And besides, Dick and I are totally bogarding the tv tonight, we have the entire first season of twin peaks to rewatch like we do every time, for some heavy duty uncle nephew bonding time. We have cherry pie and donuts and don't you look at me like that." Stiles' expression looked a bit wounded, "once in a blue moon we get together to have cherry pie and donuts and watch twin peaks, and so you're to go out, sing your embarassing pop songs," he was laughing at his son. "And we'll pretend we talked about this like adults and I won't have to send you to the Kents. And seriously, if you start talking about all that Twilight star-crossed bullshit you're on the first greyhound to Smallville."

Stiles laughed, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs to sit down with his dad at the table. "At least we still agree about that, Edward Cullen wasn't pale and interesting, he was pale and boring!"

"Now there's a kid who stayed at home nights to do decouppage." Jed said, "maybe I should look into getting you bitten, you could stay at home at night doing decouppage, there's some blank spaces on the stairs that could do with some pictures."

"People only do decouppage," Dick said from the door, with a yawn, "when they want a convenient excuse for sniffing glue." He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of zesti cola, pouring it into a glass.

"We need to get you out of the big city." Jed told him, "you think the worst of everything."

"You can always tell the glue sniffers," Dick countered, nursing his cola, "they're the ones with bits of paper stuck to them." And Stiles laughed, he couldn't help it, he had this image of Edward Cullen sat over his scrap book huffing glue whilst the rest of the vampires had orgies or something. "It's the pepsi max drinkers you have to watch for." He said this looking at Stiles with mischief in his eyes. Stiles was too busy laughing to answer.

 

KK in Clausonville was an old converted workspace, it wasn't large enough to have been a warehouse but had the wide open industrial look with small metal tables and old plastic chairs that were surprisingly comfortable despite being ugly and battered. There was a small stage to the back on which there was a small karaoke machine with projector screen which was hooked into the sound of the place. It was always busy, because it catered to underage kids shamelessly, but even so there was plenty of adults about, clearly from ferrying their kids about. They also did killer wings.

By the time Stiles and Isaac managed to get there- Dick had been clingy, "but I don't want you to goooooo,"- everyone else was there and had been for at least quarter of an hour. They had even put his order in. He sat down between Derek and Boyd and put his head on the table, "tell me you weren't waiting on me, I have inconvenient relatives." He said into his arms.

The aura around the table was frosty. Argent and Allison sat stiffly apart, Peter was gnawing on chicken wings making sure to use his teeth and then delicately wipe his fingers down on his napkin between wings. It was very clearly deliberate to annoy Argent. Derek looked like he might either swipe the wings or rip out Peter's throat, the expression was hard to tell, Erica was looking at the stage sort of longingly - because she had an awesome voice but none of the chutzpah to just get up and sing - and the girl who was on stage was currently murdering Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful". Boyd was sprawled out as much as was possible in the ugly plastic chairs and there were entire jugs of soda on the table which had already become sticky.

"We were just discussing terms." Argent said. He had a quiet voice and a smile that threatened even more throat ripping than Derek. His eyes were cold too, almost metallic. Derek said he was a good man, for a hunter, which was the best praise he could give anyone really, and he stuck to his code, but he was still a hunter, and he was also wrestling with a lot of loss. Allison however was about one blink away from going full on River Tam on the place. It was a good job that they weren't showing adverts, just some Clausonville local kid murdering modern music.

Stiles looked at Erica, "for the love of batman and the trinity of original unaltered star wars movies, please do something about that." He said in a rush, "my ears are bleeding and I don't have wolfy hearing."

Argent crooked an eyebrow. He had really slim eyebrows, Stiles noticed, and then wondered why he had noticed, I mean he had noticed, of course, that Allison's dad was a bit of a fox, but it was one of those things you noticed and decided not to do anything about, sure fire looked pretty but it didn't mean you wanted to touch it.

Erica went to the stage and sat on the stool to the side making it clear that she wanted to go next, so the girl who was squawking like a cat that had been stood on in a pool would have to make way for her. Stiles raised his head enough to glare at Argent, "what?" he asked, "She likes to sing, she's good at it, she's certainly better than Christina Aguiler-aaaaarggh up there." Peter laughed into his wings. There was a speck of sauce in the corner of his mouth.

"No more wolves." Argent said bluntly, "that's the main point of the truce." He was ignoring Stiles' bad temper as Isaac patted Stiles on the back, pretending to commiserate.

"I can agree to that." Derek said. "I have no intentions to turn any more wolves." He said the words formally, "but there are suggestions of an alpha pack infringing on my territory, I cannot speak for them because I intend to eject them as soon as I find them. This truce does not cover their activity."

Argent nodded. "Am I to assume that any violence will be perpretrated by them?" That sounded sarcastic as Allison went to say something.

"I can discipline my own pack." Derek said, "and, as a gesture, if any of them, any," he looked over them and his eyes lingered on his uncle, "kill without due cause or for any reason other than defending themselves or the pack I will hand them over to you." Stiles couldn't tell if Derek was lying, but he was looking at Peter as he said it.

"Why, nephew," Peter said, licking away the barbecue sauce with a quick pointed tongue, "I'm almost wounded."

"He couldn't wound you if he ripped your throat out." Stiles said into the well of his arms because it was just such a good opportunity he couldn't miss it. Peter just laughed.

"There are harpies out in the old quarry to the north, great for disposing of a body." Argent said in a dry tone looking at Peter.

"Shouldn't we do something about that?" Stiles raised his head. He looked interested in the proceedings again.

"They're not hurting anyone or anything, Stiles," Chris said softly, "they're scavengers, like vultures, they live on the fish in the bottom of the quarry," he shrugged. "A fully grown harpy couldn't take down a medium sized dog even if they weren't cowards. They're not an issue." He turned back to Derek, "I can accept those terms. I will not act out against reasonable violence without your say, but I do ask that we have monthly meetings, in public of course," he grinned that quicksilver cold grin, "that we might discuss matters of the territory, things like the harpies in the quarry."

"That is perfectly reasonable." Derek agreed as Erica started her song. Argent turned to look at her with some surprise because she did have a lovely voice.

"Of course I'd like you to tell me things like werewolves coming back from the dead, you know, so I have some warning."

Derek groaned, "I would have liked some warning for that too."

Peter just spread his hands and said "mea culpa."

The tension at the table ratched up a notch and people on other tables started to notice "We have an audience." Isaac hissed under his teeth. Peter rolled his eyes and went up to the stage to relieve Erica. Everyone went quiet to see where it went.

He took the microphone and looked straight at Argent, "I'm sorry," he said, "forgive me," and then the song started. "It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside I'm not one of those who can easily hide I don't have much money, but boy if I did I'd buy a big house where we both could live."

Stiles looked at Peter and then burst out laughing, genuine loud deep belly laughs. He clearly got whatever joke it was that Peter was aiming for. As Argent's expression got frostier and frostier and Allison growled.

"And you can tell everyone this is your song, it may be quite simple but now that it's done, but I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words, how wonderful life is now that you're in the world."

Even Erica as she went back to her seat was a little surprised. "He has a decent voice." She said like that was what matters.

"It's genius." Stiles said between guffaws, "he's given everyone a reason for the tension at the table."

Allison still looked uncomvinced. "They think that he's an ass and is risking public humiliation as an apology." Her dad said leaning into her.

And everyone was watching Peter, even bored parents who were clearly only their to give their underaged kids a ride home was watching Peter sing that song from Moulin Rouge, and Stiles had been surprised that it had more than one verse and was actually so pretty, because it really was, "So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do, you see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue, anyway, the thing is, what I really mean, yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen, and you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple, but now that it's done, I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words- How wonderful life is while you're in the world." Erica was right, he did have a nice voice, Stiles thought to himself, and the song was very pretty, and he sounded better singing it than Ewan McGregor had which immediately put in his head the image of Chris Argent dressed up as Satine in the red dress and Stiles lost it again.

Everyone else at the table looked at him like he was mad, but Isaac just answered, "he has really inconvenient relatives."

Argent just gave him that crazy person's talking to me look and turned to Derek as Peter finished his song. "Lazy Susan's every other Sunday, 11, just me, just you." He stood up throwing a few bills on the table, "come on, Allison."

"I hope you don't mind," Peter continued on stage as Chris walked out of the bar, "that I put down in words, how wonderful life is now you're in the world."


	7. Chapter 7

Dick and his dad were still heckling the TV when Stiles and Isaac rolled in. Isaac flopped down beside them and stole a donut like this was perfectly normal but Stiles really wasn't in the mood for creepy old tv and went on up to his room. He sprawled out on his bed and just sighed. Life was never like this in those supernatural dramas on the CW. Although, if he thought about it, then Derek was way hotter than the Salvatore brothers, probably because they were vampires and dead. He laughed at his own humour before there was a knock on the door.

"Hey," Dick said coming around the door with a home made smoothie, because Dick didn't do coffee or even diet soda, apart from the occasional tin of zesti cola and half a cherry pie. "You look like a person in need of the best part of a cherry pie."

"Aren't you bonding with dad?" Stiles asked swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and pulling himself up to a sitting position. He didn't mean to sound as sarcastic as it came out.

"He's making do with Isaac," Dick said sitting down beside him, "I've seen the show like a hundred times already, he hasn't seen it at all so he's getting that contact high from a new viewer thing." He offered him the pie. "I know why you ditched me." Stiles took a forkful. It was good pie, Lazy Susan's best cherry pie, ordered in advance with the softest flakiest pastry that was never greasy. Dad always got the best pie for Dick. "yanno," Dick said, "Because I always hate it when you come to Gotham, because everything's all about you, and I hear about how you did really well on this test or that, or you're in the Lacrosse team." He said.

"I'm a bench warmer." Stiles corrected him.

"Yeah, but when you're there, because you're new and I love you they want to please you, and show off for you and I get ignored."

Stiles lifted the smoothie, holding it up in a mock toast. "So it's not just me." He said, "here's to never being Batman, always Robin for you and me." His tone was rather dark and self deprecating.

Dick nudged him. "There is nothing wrong with being Robin you know." He said, "I mean, you're not from Gotham so maybe you don't know, but Robin, he's kick ass. He has his purpose and it's important. Do you know why Batman has Robin?" because if he didn't need him he wouldn't, you know." Stiles was quiet, clearly chewing the pie so he didn't say anything incriminating.

"He wears bright colours to distract the big bads, you know, if they're focussing on the red and yellow darting about they don't see the shadow creeping up behind them. If Robin is kidnapped to provoke Batman it's not someone like Babs, who's the commissioner's daughter, or the mayor's baby or something like that. And you know what the big deal is, the one everyone forgets, is that Robin deals with the prostitutes and the runaways who won't talk to Batman because he's terrifying, so he brings them food and extra condoms and they tell him about the ones who go missing and it gets sorted, and sometimes he needs Batman to help, but more often than not he doesn't. He doesn't do the high profile stuff, but he does important stuff, just without the credit, and with name calling like Birdbrain or the Boy Hostage or..." he stopped unclenching his fists.

"There's nothing wrong with being Robin, sure Batman looms and photobombs the tv news and stuff, but Robin, he's the one people talk to, and he's bad ass in his own right."

Stiles took another mouthful of the pie. "and besides," Dick continued, "from what I gather, Batman's an ass."

Stiles spluttered, choking on his pie. "Sure he could take down the entire Justice League from his front room barely waving a pinkie, but seriously, an ass. He deals with the big bads so that the GCPD can do the stuff like bank robberies and murders, but it's..." he stopped, "it's a Gotham thing." Dick smiled to himself. "I'm going up to Metropolis tomorrow." He said, "whilst Bruce and Jay are in Eastern Europe, I don't think I'll be there more than overnight, do you want to come with, just you and me and no crazy ass family drama?"

Swallowing his last mouthful of pie Stiles offered Dick a smile, "yeah, I think I'd like that." He said.

"Oh, and I kinda used your computer," Dick continued, "hope you don't mind."

Stiles made a noise like a wounded animal. "My scrobbler," he said, "I'll not be able to use Last.fm for months, it'll be full of recs for your old person music."

Dick grinned. "I found some old photos in my Mom's stuff, before I went away, and I scanned them in, and I just got Alfred to upload them for me, like yesterday, and I knew there was one you'd want so I printed it out, whilst listening to my old person music on your scrobbler." He mocked an evil person mwa ha ha laugh. "Because seriously, I hate to break it to you but CBGBs isn't a skin condition."

He got up and went to Stiles' printer. "And I may owe you a colour cartridge." He said and handed Stiles the photo which had been printed out at a4. It was two men bookending a woman in the middle, and it sort of looked like every bad Nirvana photoshoot ever. The girl in the middle, Stiles' Mom Anya, who looked so like him it almost hurt, was grinning with bleach blonde hair and black roots and this frilly flowery dress and a henley under it and great big doc marten boots, and the two men beside her were wearing tattered jeans and plaid and there was a banner over their head saying "equal medical rights for Metas." For a second Stiles smiled because this was a picture of his Mom in college, and then he looked at the two young men beside her, one he didn't recognise at all with large expressive blue eyes, but the other had a very distinctive and sinister smile. Standing there, arm around Stiles' Mom, was Chris Argent, and to make matters worse both men were clearly in love with her. "Son of a bitch." Stiles went. "I," he wrapped his arms around Dick, "I love you, and thank you for the pie, and yes I want to go to Metropolis with you because I want to see their tram station in person and I have to go."

He clattered down the stairs, narrowingly avoiding permanent injury or death by grabbing the hand rail at the last minute. "Gotta go out," he told his Dad as he ran past, "won't be long."

 

Like most of the houses in Beacon Hills the Argent house was large, and Stiles parked up quickly, almost carelessly, undid his seat belt, because he knew exactly how much a new windshield was going to be because you couldn't drive werewolves about and not learn these things because it was only a matter of time, and so he always buckled up because that shit was expensive and he knew even in his own head he was rambling more than usual. He snatched the photo from the passenger seat and rung the doorbell.

Argent, to his credit, looked surprised to see him there. "Stiles, is something wrong?" because he'd only left them like an hour ago and everything seemed fine then, well apart from Peter being undead and creepy and perfectly normal for Peter.

"Yes, I mean, no, it's not a wolf thing." He said and thrust the photo at Argent. "I need you to explain this."

Argent took the photo and looked at it under the porch light. "Where did you get this?" he asked, he didn't sound accusatory just tired.

"I need you to explain, please." Stiles thought he might cry as he looked at this man who hated him and hated all of his life choices but was still, or at least so Stiles beleived, a good man.

"You better come in then." He moved in to invite Stiles in. Stiles had never actually been in the Argent house, in fact he'd only had cause to be there once when he'd tried to check that Scott hadn't eaten Allison, because as sweet as Allison was her parents really weren't, and her grandfather was a total assface.

There was a slight parlour and hints here and there that this was a family in mourning, because maybe grandpa assface had been evil and Mrs Argent had been super scary but they had been family in this house. "Where did you get the photo, Stiles?" Argent asked as he led him through into the kitchen and offered him a bottle of soda.

Stiles shook his head, "please, you have to tell me."

"That I went to college with Peter Hale, that's hardly a state secret, if Peter is trying to stir things up he picked the wrong thing to do it with." Stiles took a deep breath, so the other man in the photo was Peter, that was interesting but that wasn't what he wanted to know. He had been so young when his mother was killed that he didn't really know much about her, other than what he could get from his dad and even rarer from Dick or Oma or Vati, although Grunkle Stan had gotten drunk one evening on his own brew and waxed lyrical about her and her sister for hours once, but that was when the memories were still kinda new and fresh.

"The woman in the photo." Stiles said, "how did you know her?"

"Anya?" Argent seemed shocked at that. "You want to know about Anya?" Argent sat down on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and gestured that Stiles should sit as well. "She's not going to be someone you can use in this... wolf thing."

"It's not about Wolves!" Stiles snapped, angry because the man just wasn't getting it. "I don't want her involved with the wolves and all that shit, I know who she is, I want to know how you knew her well enough that she kept photos of you, because she was my mom." He slammed the glass soda bottle down on the counter and the cola inside swelled over the lip. "I," he was finding it hard to breathe and the world was closing in and he was not going to have a panic attack in front of Chris Argent. He'd stared down a lot more big and bad than this man and he would not back down.

Argent went to the cupboard and poured a glass of water which he handed to Stiles and then just waited it out, like panic attacks were normal for him to deal with on a day to day basis and he didn't push it.

"I'm sorry," Argent said quietly, "I didn't know she was your mom, we," he stopped. "She was a remarkable woman, and," he stopped again. "When I went to college," he started, "I didn't know about hunting and werewolves and everything," he gestured with his hand, "my mom never let me see it, she trained Kate up, but I was apparently unsuitable, probably because I worshipped my father." He went quiet, "so I went to Pacific Northwestern like any other freshman not sure what my major was going to be or what I wanted to do with my life." There was another pause. "And then I met Anya." He smiled to himself, a quiet, private smile that wasn't at all sharky. "Actually I met Peter at the same time. It was a coincidence, although Anya always maintained she didn't believe in them. She said once is an incidence, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern."

"My dad says that too." Stiles said.

"We were in introduction to lit, or something similar, American Literature or something, and it was early in the first term, not first week, but not much past it, when the lecturer, who was a collossal ass by the way, started talking about this book and it was so obvious he had chosen it because it was out of print and we wouldn't get it and he could talk any kind of bullshit about it, and we wouldnt know better. And she stood up, and for me it was like the heavens parted and she was bathed in light, I'd never seen anyone like her. This was over twenty years ago, you remember, we were all kids then. She told the lecturer he was wrong as he went on and on about this book, and that he had the biggest details wrong, and she argued him down, and he asked her how she knew better about this book by Anastasia Morozova than he did and when he asked her her name she said Anastasia Morozova. And the class went quiet and then laughed and I knew in that instant I was in love with her." He stopped, "and an hour later she let me down gently, and told me she was not the one for me, but that wouldn't stop us being friends."

"Deaton said she'd written a book." Stiles said quietly.

"Yeah, about werewolves of all things." Argent said, "and she never stopped, she was always doing something or talking or knitting and talking and drinking coffee and the three of us were inseperable, but she," he stopped, "it's not like she kept us at arm's length but we were never more than friends. Close friends." He made that clear, "and we were going to do post grad, Peter in Anthropology, her in law and me in history, we were going to be together, and then she just up and told us one day that she was going to do her post grad stuff in Gotham U, that her sister was pregnant and she couldn't do this any more.

"I tried to keep in touch but she was always busy and there were letters, I knew she'd gotten married, and I knew she had a baby, but," he stopped. "She was an amazing woman, Stiles, I can't tell you that enough." He stopped then, rolling his soda bottle between his hands. "Hell, she introduced me to Victoria and told me to marry her, and damn if she wasn't right. She had this laugh, like I know how it's all going to happen and you have to trust me and it's what's best, the same way she told that lecturer that actually the werewolf wasn't called Alex it was Alexei that day in introduction to freshman reading or whatever it was."

"I was seven when she died." Stiles said, "and I mean, I knew about the law thing, it's hard not to, because there are documentaries and someone asked Dad about making a movie and he punched him in the face, and everyone says I look like her."

"You have her eyes." Argent cut in. "I didn't see it before but now, you really do look like her, but you have her eyes."

That was when Allison came into the kitchen. "What are you doing here?" She asked Stiles much in the same way one would ask a dog shit that was stuck to their shoe. "Why did you let him in?" She asked her dad, then noticed the photo on the counter, "why are you showing him this?" she asked.

Argent cut her off with a glare. "Go to your room." He said bluntly, "this is nothing to do with you, and if you're going to treat a guest in our home so rudely you can sit in your room and wait it out."

"But he," Allison started.

"He what, Allison?" Stiles asked, "he has never done anything that wasn't to help you and Scott. He's the one that carried around your secret messages and he's the one that covered for you, and he's the one that thinks you have nothing to do with this conversation. We're not talking about you, god knows, we're not even talking about wolves or pack, or even how you stabbed Isaac and made everything that much worse because god knows you only have to flash your dimples to Scott before he rolls over and shows you his belly, and..." he stopped. "Mr Argent, thank you," he said standing up, "for answering my questions. I better be getting back, my dad will be getting worried."

"No problem, Stiles, I might have some more photos, if I do I'll drop them off with your dad, is that okay." Stiles nodded and for a second thought he might cry, but he swallowed it down. Argent offered him a smile, "you can call me Chris, you know," he said, "and if you have any more questions, about what we talked about, just knock on the door, okay." Stiles nodded and let himself out, with the photo in his hand.

He sat in his jeep for a moment, and looked at the photo, before he sent off a quick text to Derek, "where is p living now?"

When no answer was coming, because Derek was useless when it came to answering texts, he never seemed to treat them like a conversation as opposesd to some sort of mass memo service, he drove home.

Isaac and his dad were still sacked out on the couch, Dick sprawled like a blanket over the love seat. On the screen Dale Cooper was discussing their damn fine coffee with Sheriff Truman and Stiles just plopped down next to Dick. "You know what," he said to his cousin, "I'd forgotten how cute Coop was." And Dick laughed and just like that everything was alright between them.

When he finally went upstairs to bed, Isaac was complaining that that couldn't be it because he didn't know who had killed Laura Palmer and Dick just laughed and told him about the mythical second series, which was only mythical because it had never been released as a box set, or if it had no one had ever seen it and it was even more crazy and had Fox Mulder in a dress, which immediately Isaac didn't believe.

 

When Stiles got up the next morning, with Isaac wrapped around him like an octopus with curls he discovered his dad at the kitchen table looking at the photo that Dick had printed off. "Dick went to Metropolis without you." His dad said, "because I asked him to." And Stiles was kinda pissed at that because he had wanted to go to Metropolis with Dick, "and it meant that he could take his bike instead of the jeep because I don't think the jeep could have made the drive to be honest, and the idea of you on the back of that bike gives me chest pains." He was playing with his coffee, "And Chris Argent called me, about you going to his last night, and asking about your Mom."

"I didn't really think that through." Stiles agreed. "I was just...."

His dad smiled at him. "Sometimes I think we forget that for all Anya was to us," and he had that strange faint half smile that Argent had had the night before, "that she was someone before us too, and we don't talk about her because that's easier than trying to deal with.." he stopped, "and maybe we should."

"She wrote a book, dad, when she was my age." Stiles said. "I think I want to read it, maybe get to know her that way."

"Yeah, me too." Jed offered him a smile. "Dick left this for you when I spoke to him this morning," he offered him a business card, "apparently it's the best second hand book seller on the east coast, he said to tell the owner that you were to charge it to Bruce because he's not cheap and well Bruce probably won't even notice a couple of hundred dollars for a book." Stiles nodded and read the card, it simply said "Jason Blood, Gotham Antiquarian Books" and a phone number.

"The men in the photo, dad, it's Chris Argent and Peter Hale, and I didn't know that she knew them."

Jed stood up and wrapped his arm about his son's shoulders. "Peter was here a lot when she was...." he said, he still couldn't say the words, "he always looked at her like the sun shone out of her ears but she'd just laugh. There were times he looked after you so we could go on dates." There was a moment's silence as Jed worried over what to say, "I used to go and see him up at the home, before Derek transferred him to that new care facility and he came back, since then he hasn't been over, well not since your Mom, really." He went quiet. "They were best friends, he's the reason we moved to Beacon Hills, because Peter was here, I used to be so jealous." He said. "I think you'd be better off talking to him as well, you know, maybe get to know your Mom that way, because one of the main things I hate about her dying was that she never got to know how amazing you are, as opposed to just how amazing you were."

He wrapped his arms around his dad for an impromptu hug which was of course when Isaac made his appearance because Isaac never missed an opportunity for a hug, it was like he had some sort of werewolf hug sense, like his pointy ears would prick up no matter what he was doing and go, my werewolf sense is tingling, a hug is in the offing I must get involved. But as Isaac wrapped himself around them too Stiles decided he didn't care because hugs were awesome and maybe Isaac needed all the hugs he could get.

"Oh, and Stiles," his dad said when they finally pulled apart, "when you get back in from seeing Peter, you're grounded, you can't just ditch people and run out past curfew like Meatloaf in a hurry."

"Huh," the reference missed Stiles completely.

"Like a bat out of hell." Isaac said quietly, "is there coffee?"

 

Peter Hale was living in a cabin that wasn't too far from the old Hale house, and something about it suggested to Stiles that it might have been his before the fire. It was lived in but years of neglect had taken their toll, even though it clearly had a brand new wood shingle roof. The shutters needed painted and the porch was almost derelict but unlike Derek who lived in dens he had a house, with electricity and running water, and, Stiles noticed as he parked the jeep outside, a telephone line so internet and not just wifi. He went to knock on the door but it swung open when he got there.

Peter had the radio on and it was playing an accoustic version of Kelly Clarkson's Since U been gone, and was stretched out on a yoga mat with his ass in the air. He didn't even turn his head from his yoga position, with his feet stretched in an arch that almost matched that of his back, "hello, Stiles, can I help you?"

"Yeah," he said, "I can wait though, you have anything to drink in here?" Stiles couldn't help but look around, because the alternative was Peter's ass in pastel pink sweats which was pointed at the door, and there was some old furniture, wooden framed with new cushions, and an old box style tv. There were a few framed water colours on the wall, that looked like illustrations from books, and a book case full of old novels. Stiles wouldn't have been surprised if they had just locked this place up when Peter went into the hospital and never done anything about it. Because here and there Stiles could see floorboards which had been replaced under the rugs.

"There's water in the fridge," Peter told him, "can you bring me one as well, I'm just about done here."

Stiles couldn't argue with that so he went to the fridge, which was much larger than he expected and full of vegetables and healthy snacks and things. There were no severed heads or anything. It actually did look like the fridge of a person who was wearing pink sweat pants and doing yoga. He took two of the bottles of water, which were in glass bottles with metal screw caps and clearly not the usual cheap walmart shit, and carried them into the sitting room where Peter was now standing and breathing. His dedication to yoga seemed a little more tenuous than Stiles thought, and had the immediate idea that he had possibly heard Stiles coming and got himself into that pose to mess with him.

With Peter it was hard to tell.

Isaac had said that it was much safer to assume that he was and then not react. Stiles agreed. Derek may be laying the alpha smack down on him, or at least Derek maintained that he was, but just because he couldn't use violence and physical force didn't mean he wasn't messing with them all the time. Last night's karaoke was proof enough of that.

The radio switched out from Kelly Clarkson to Gotye so it was clearly a hits station, which just messed with Stiles more. "So, to what do I attribute the pleasure?" Peter asked, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders.

"This." Stiles thrust out the photo like it was a knife he could drive Peter away with.

Peter took it and his face darkened and he licked his lips. "Where did you get this?" he asked, "is it Argent's revenge for "your song" because I regret nothing."

"He said the same thing? he wondered if I had got it off you, but I told you," Stiles was defensive, sitting on the ugly couch which was so much more comfortable than it looked, "I have inconvenient relatives and he found it."

"Your cousin." Peter said, "he looks like you. Did he find the old article? because there were lots of photos of protesters taken that day. It's hardly the end of the universe that I went to a meta rights protest in college, and in my defence everyone dressed like that then."

"He found it in his Mom's things, some old photos, that sort of thing, it's my Mom." Stile said bluntly not letting Peter argue with him.

Peter to his credit just looked at the photo, then at Stiles, then said "oh fuck, Sasha." Then he looked at Stiles again and dropped down into a squat so his head was between his knees and started to hyperventilate. His half drunk bottle of water spilled all over the floor.

Stiles could honestly say that was not the reaction he expected and it took the whole of Fun's We are young for Peter to compose himself, and even then it wasn't much of an improvement. "You're Sasha?" he asked when he finally had his breathing under control. "No, you're Stiles, you can't be Sasha."

Stiles had always hated the name Sasha, even before all the teasing in kindergarten, and by the time he had reached elementary school he had been Stiles. "Yeah, Stiles, short of Stilinski," he said bluntly, "formerly Sasha because no one can say the name my Mom gave me which was my Vati's before me."

"I thought it was Stiles, like your surname, like Ryan Stiles." Stiles had no idea who that was.

"Nope, Stilinski, as in the son of James Edward and Anastasia Margot Stilinski, the same Anastasia Margot Stilinski who is in that photo with you and Chris Argent." It was weird having power over Peter, over anyone really and Stiles was almost enjoying it but Peter looked horrified, like Stiles had turned into the alien chestburster and was leaking acid, old blood, and brain matter over his couch. He had a quick mental thought of who would win in a fight, the alien chestburster or a werewolf, which led to his mind creating a were-chestburster and that wasn't a good thought, so he went back to Peter.

"Fuck," Peter said, maybe he could read minds, Stiles thought, and could see the image of the were-chestburster which was like the usual chestburster but with glowing claws and hair in strange places, and oozing black viscous acid instead of the usual clear stuff. "so Dick's Mariska's boy?" Stiles nodded. "Double fuck." There was a pause, then "and I offered you the bite," he managed, "your grandmother is going to kill me." Then he was hyperventilating again. For a second Stiles wished he had had this information when they were fighting Peter before he came back from the dead.

With a sigh Stiles got up from the couch and knelt down beside Peter, he did what his dad always did for him when he was having a panic attack and placed his hand between Peter's shoulderblades in a reassuring warmth, "breathe with me, in 2 3 and out 2 3 and in 2 3 and out 2 3" over and over until Peter's breathing settled. Then Stiles offered him the water he'd gotten for himself which Peter gulped down greedily. "She's that bad, huh?" Stiles said and Peter attempted a laugh before he stood up.

Peter sat on the floor awkwardly for a little while, cradling his water. Stiles could understand that, panic attacks sucked and they just sucked everything out of you. He hadn't meant to give Peter not one but two of the damn things, he just wanted him to answer questions about his Mom. But Stiles had had a few panic attacks in his time, and a few close calls, but these, these were panic attacks, and what made it worse was Peter really didn't seem like the type


	8. Chapter 8

Peter sat on the ugly, but surprisingly really comfortable, couch with Stiles looking through an old photo album. "That's your Mom," he said quietly, pointing at the girl, "she was the one that taught me that you didn't have to be a werewolf to be top of the food chain." There was a pot of earl grey on the small table beside the couch. Peter said it was good for frayed nerves but Stiles thought it smelt a bit too perfumy to be something people voluntarily drank.

Anastasia Morozova, who had become Anya Stilinski, was sat in the photo on a set of steps leading up to a building that was part of the university with a book in her hands. She was wearing a really ugly oversized sweater and skin tight black leggings with big boots. She was glaring at the camera, "I've never met anyone like her, she was," he stopped, "well, she was like you." He looked across at Stiles, "always talking, gesturing with her hands, ideas would zip past her and she's throw them all out there for anyone who wanted them. When we had seminars or group discussions we had to tape them so we could remember what she said. She was brilliant, but really scatterbrained, or she seemed to be and then she'd write these essays that were so razor sharp, or her wit, god it was like a rapier, and she was never still. It was easier to stop the tide than get her to stay still for more than five minutes." He laughed to himself, "even sleeping she was all arms and legs and muttering."

"Was she your girlfriend?" Stiles felt he should ask.

"No," Peter said, "but not for lack of trying on my part, god, the only thing Chris and I," he turned the picture pointing at Chris who was awkwardly trying to eat a sub sandwich when the camera was turned on him, "seriously the only thign we had in common was that we loved her and she would never love us back. She never teased us or made us promises or used it, she told us, pretty much the first day we met her that she was destined for someone else and that it didn't mean she wouldn't love us, just that she'd never be in love with us and it would be cruel to do anything, so we loved her and were like shadows when she blazed." He paused, "and don't make the mistake of thinking her as anything other than a bonfire, Stiles, because she blazed, and everyone basked in her fire, but you couldn't touch. She'd crawl into my bed after being out all night with me on a full moon, just sitting in the trees behind the campus throwing a ball for me to fetch because it was funny, and she'd just climb up agianst me and sleep and I'd smell her hair and hate Him so much because she'd never love me the way she loved Him."

"My dad?" Stiles asked. Because his dad wasn't anything like the way that Peter described Anya, he described her as this bright shining almost dangerous thing and Stiles' dad was solid and reliable and thorough.

"Yeah," Peter said and turned the page, this time Anya was wearing a gown, suggesting a university formal, and her hair was bleach blonde with black roots held in place with this old barrette that Stiles kept with his mother's jewellery box and there was a hint of a tattoo over the sweetheart neck of the dress and a metal snake coiled around her upper arm, and she was getting dressed and was stomping around with her makeup half done and those great big boots she always seemed to be wearing. Behind the barette her hair was a mass of loose wavy curls. "Stiles, how much do you know about the history of your family?"

Stiles was quiet for a moment, Peter's photos were more intimate than the family ones his dad kept, they showed her younger and wilder before she had become a lawyer and tried to change the world. "I know we're from Bohemia," he said, "which is the Czech Republic now, and I know no one likes to talk about it," he said, "and Deaton said we had Wild Magic which he thinks was hereditary, but apparently it's hard to tell with wild magic."

"Yeah," Peter said, "our transformation abilities are wild magic." His tone was even, almost lecturing, like one of those teachers who had interesting stuff to tell you but didn't quite know how. "What do you know about Operation Touchstone?" Stiles had never heard of it and said so. "Right," Peter said, "have you seen Indiana Jones?"

"I've seen all four." Stiles answered.

"Four?" Peter asked, "tell me they didn't." Stiles gave him a look that said I know but what can you do. Peter shook his head at that, "you'd think they'd have learned from the star wars abominations." He said, finally, "anyway, Indiana Jones, you know how he was trying to get things that the Nazis were after."

"In the last one it was Russians, but yes." Stiles said,

Peter groaned, "Remind me not to watch that." He told the boy.

"It came on TV once and it said Indiana Jones and both me and dad went ooh, and then continued the kingdom of the crystal skull and it became ugh and we changed the channel, trust as bad as you think it is, it's actually worse, and it's got that annoying kid from the Transformers movies in it."

"They made a transformers movie?" Peter pulled a face, and Stiles showed him three fingers, "seriously, in a catatonic state for six years and the entertainment industry goes to shit. Yes, so Indiana Jones, chasing down the Ark of the Covenant and things, but so were the nazis, do you know why it is in the film?"

"Because he needed an antagonist that could be faceless and obviously evil."

Stiles wasn't as stupid as Peter sometimes thought him, "more that the Nazis actually collected this stuff, the whole BPRD was put together to combat it." Stiles nodded though Peter got the impression he had no idea what this was, "they used the prison camps among other things to collect people who historically had power, werewolves, sorcerors, magic users, Jews who were associated with the old magic in the qabbalah, Gypsies, anyone, tested them and if they had power moved them from the camps to their labs. They wanted an invincible army any way that they could. Your Oma was in one of those labs. You know that scene in An American Werewolf in London with the weres in nazi uniforms gunning down the family, that was part of the endgame."

"They're remaking that." Stiles chipped in. Peter groaned.

"Your Oma," he said bringing the subject back to where it was, "and her brother were very lucky in getting out the labs and not recruited into the BPRD which was the allies way of keeping these things under control and under the public radar, when she left the camps she was pregnant with your Vati. Anya didn't talk about this a lot, you understand, this is taken mosty from people I knew in the BPRD and a few Lightkeepers here and there along the way. They were all really tight knit, Stanislaw went to Gravity Falls who I'm told no one talks about, and Dorota stayed in Cloverdale. Within two years of being out of the camps she was acknowledged as a very powerful magic user, by the time your Vati left school she was easily the most powerful in the Pacific Northwest. She cowed the others, she was given an invite to join the Sentinels and she refused, kept herself to herself and that was that.

"When your Vati married and had Mariska everything was happy, then Anya about ten years later, and their Mom died in childbirth, so your Vati went back to live with Dorota, your Oma, and she and Mariska never got on, so when she turned sixteen Mariska ran off to the circus and married an acrobat, I never learned his name."

"John Grayson." Stiles filled it in.

"And so Anya grew up with your Oma and manifested early."

"Before the six thousand days?" Stiles asked.

"Okay maybe not that early." Peter agreed, "if you know about that. She wrote a book, about werewolves, about a werewolf called Alexei and a boy called Rowan. She published it and then the publisher she chose, although she had several offers, went bust. She knew that it was going to. The Sentinels and BPRD all registered your Mom as a prophet, a seer, she saw things and they came to be, so she knew from when she was a girl that she was going to marry your dad and be happy. It's important you know that." Stiles nodded. "So when your Oma finds out I offered you the bite, not knowing you were related to her, she's going to flay me, you understand that too don't you?"

Stiles nodded in another of those but what can you do gestures. "The magic I used to bring myself back, I learned that from her."

"Why didn't you bring back Laura? or my Mom if you loved her so much?"

"I was going to bring back Laura, it was all part of the plan, but hunters found her body before I could, that's why they cut them in half, so we can't come back, though I don't think that they remember that detail. We can heal from most anything, but sometimes we need the blood and moon to hurry it along." He stopped, "and as for your Mom, I couldn't bring her back, she was human, Stiles, more goddess than woman most days, but human. It nearly killed me when she died, I kept waking up in your yard because I could smell her on you, and..." he was quiet for a moment, "sometimes, Stiles, the only thing you can do with someone you love is let them go and trust they'll be happier with someone else, and your Mom was. I loved her but she didn't love me that way."

He turned the page of the photo album, this one showed the three of them, arm in arm and grinning for the photo, and his Mom was fully made out and beautiful with her eyes thickly lashed and dark shadow and the two men were wearing tuxedos and kissing her on the cheek, one on either side. "She made it very hard not to love her." Peter said touching the photo. "She was just that kind of person."

Stiles took a mouthful of his tea as he turned the page, this time it was clear that his mom had taken the photos because they were of Chris and Peter at the beach and there were fingers in every frame. For all that she was Anya Stilinski couldn't take a photo without getting at least one finger in the frame. Stiles' dad had kept all of them, even the ones where the was no frame, just blurry fingers. Some of the shots were candid, including one where Peter was rubbing suntan lotion on Chris' back as he whispered something and Chris was laughing, and his laughter wasn't knife edged like it was now. Or there was one where Peter was eating a sandwich and Chris was just behind him about to tip a bucket of water over his head. "You look happy in these." Stiles said.

"I was." Peter told him. "We were, kids often are." He faked a grin and turned the page, "people forget that Oregon is on the coast, you know, that it has things like beaches." The next pages were of Anya and Chris, so Peter had taken the camera. Anya, it was easier, Stiles found, to think of her as Anya than his Mom when she looked like this, had cropped her hair into a severe black pixie cut and was wearing 1940's style horn rimmed glasses and a really old fashioned swim suit with shorts with a high waist and a band underneath her breasts in a yellow polka dot pattern with buttons on it, and a large wide brimmed sun hat that Stiles could actually remember. She was all leg and golden skin. She was beautiful.

"I don't really remember her." Stiles said quietly. "I remember the way she smelled, and her running across the floor to sweep me up in a hug no matter what I was doing, and holding her hair."

"I do," Peter said. He reached across Stiles for the tea which was the exact moment that Derek burst in like the world was ending and attacked his uncle.

"Are you alright?" he asked Stiles, who had moved to quickly save the photo album.

"Yes." Stiles answered wary. "Why, what have you heard?"

"I could hear you," Derek said, "I was running, and I could hear your heart and smell you and you were upset and scared, did he hurt you?" Derek was flushed and angry, his hand tight around his uncle's throat, the cup of tea spilled all over Peter's pink sweat pants.

"No, we were looking at old photos." Stiles said, "you can put him down."

"I can't." Peter gasped, "I'm under a geas."

"You're under a goose?" Stiles asked quickly.

"No, I'm under a geas." Peter corrected, trying to swallow past the hand on his throat. "It means I can't hurt him, I never have, have I, Stiles?"

Stiles thought over it, "actually no, at the hospital you didn't touch me, in the school you were after Scott, even on the football field you went after Lydia not me."

"I knew his Mom," Peter continued, "we were talking about her, nothing else."

"I'd kill you, if I thought it would stick." Derek growled. "Come on, Stiles, you're not safe here." He offered Stiles his other hand.

"Peter, I better...?" he said standing up, putting down his tea cup, then holding the photo album, "Can I?"

"I'd rather you didn't." Peter said.

Stiles blinked, "oh no, not to keep, to scan in, Dick will get a kick out of some of these, and... that's all. I," he shrugged. "Thank you."

"I have a scanner," Peter said, ignoring Derek who was holding him by the throat to the wall, "I'll email them to you."

"Thank you." Stiles repeated, "really, Derek, you can let him down, he really wasn't doing anything."

Peter couldn't resist the snark, Stiles could see it building, the inevitability of it, and then it happened, "and you wonder why everyone thinks the two of you are having sex."

"Unlike you and Chris Argent?" Derek said finally letting him down. "Your song, really?"

"It was a moment of inspiration, I admit," Peter said rubbing his throat, "it might have been his wife's favourite song."

"No," Stiles corrected, "it was my mom's, wasn't it?" Stiles watched Peter's eye go sad, "She let me see Moulin Rouge, and that's in it, I remember that." Peter looked sad for a moment.

Peter smiled, "I really did bite the wrong teen," he said in a loose airy way, "maybe I just really fancied a nibble, must have smelt ax on the wind."

Derek just grabbed Stiles by the back of his hoodie and led him to the door, practically dragging him along like he was a pet. The thing was Stiles just looked back over his shoulder as if to say, "well, what can you do?"

 

Lazy Susan's was busier than it had been the last time Derek took Stiles here, there was only one table empty which Derek claimed like it was an unruly kingdom that questioned his ability to do war. "He didn't touch me." Stiles said when the waitress had taken their orders, peaches and cream malt, because you couldn't come to Lazy Susan's and not order the peaches and cream malt, yes Derek you are strange for not ordering it, and a coffee. "It wasn't a wolf thing."

Derek raised his eyebrow, he had very expressive eyebrows, Stiles thought, except no one else could tell what those eyebrows were saying. He didn't just say things with his eyebrows, they had their own language and Stiles had been around him enough when nothing moved but those damn eyebrows that Stiles was almost fluent in them.

"It was not a wolf thing." Stiles repeated, "he went to college with my mom, I found an old photo and went to ask him about it, that's all it was."

The eyebrows quirked.

"Really." Stiles smiled at the waitress as she brought them over their drinks, and Derek's eyebrows just had a field day with that as he thanked her. "This is the reason everyone thinks we're a couple." He said, waving his hand, "you and your ridiculous monosyllabic eyebrow conversations."

"Everyone thinks we're a couple because it's the only reason they can think that someone my age would hang out with someone your age and then take the opportunity to tell your dad that we're together so he can worry." Derek said, stirring his coffee.

"He doesn't worry about that," Stiles said, "it's about the only thing he doesn't worry about, do you know he told me if I break your heart he's shipping me out to Kansas. Not, if he breaks your heart I'm taking him out back and shooting him, and it's not like he knows about the wolf thing so he doesn't know you'll just heal, but, no, me, I'll be the one sexiled." He stirred his straw through his milkshake which was thick and frothy just the way he liked it, and it was thick enough it could pass as a meal in some places. He was sure that between the two of them him and Susan were keeping Georgia in peaches.

"Kansas?" Derek asked, "I thought your cousin lived in Gotham," he stopped, "I wouldn't send you there either, surely you have other relatives."

"Nana and grandpa Stilinski live in a retirement village in Pensacola, and then there's Oma up in Oregon or Grunkle Stan but we don't talk about him." Stiles blurted out, "but Dick knows this family, he spent a summer with them, and where they live in Kansas they're still talking about this prize cow fifty years ago, and that's where my dad's always threatening to send me, they're a lovely couple, but man, I need something more than gossip about a dead cow." Derek smiled. "Their son's a reporter down in Metropolis, that's who Dick went to see, but I think it's great, we're not having a relationship and my dad, mine, is telling me not to break your heart."

Derek did laugh at that. "The Sheriff's a good man." Derek said around the lip of his coffee cup.

"He told me to use protection, that was his you shouldn't be dating the Hale boy son, lecture, and Isaac, never one to miss a snark, suggests a gum shield, and Dad, being Dad, said, don't you mean dental dam and the two of them just sat laughing at me, and we're just friends." He gestured to Derek, "you and me, because Scott completely shattered the bro-code, I mean first he ditches me for Allison, then he uses me so he can get with Allison, and then he up and betrays me because of Allison, never mind the amount of times he's barely arrived in the nick of time because of, I don't know, Allison, and when I say anything because I'd like to see my friend more than once in a month of sundays I'm jealous." He shook his head, slurping his milkshake, "and then last night because he was in the photo I went to see Chris Argent and Allison is all, get the fuck out because you're filth like..." he stopped. "I'm starting to not like Allison." He finished.

"I'd never have guessed." Derek said quietly.

"So, sorry, that leaves me with you, or Isaac's ninja hug skills, and man he just appears out of nowhere with snark and hugs, it's like a super power, I can just imagine him in the Justice League now, or the Avengers, except they're not real, it'd be all, "snark snark snark, hug!" and the bad guy of the week would go running off to Arkham just to get away from his hugs." It was clear that Derek was trying not to laugh. His entire face was almost screwed up trying to keep it in. "And they're really good snarks, was he that snarky when he was living with you, or did your eyebrows not give him a chance to get a word in edgewise?"

Stiles could tell that Derek was on the verge of spewing coffee out of his nose trying to hold in the laughter and he gave him a break. "I'm grounded by the way," he said, "as soon as I go home, that's it, not out for a week."

"Isn't that a bit?" Derek left it open.

"Hey, I went to see Peter as part of an existentialist crisis, I'll have you know, I was supposed to be in Metropolis today, I was supposed to be going with Dick to see whatsisface Kent, but he showed me this photo of my mom with Chris Argent so I kinda ditched him again, and Dad was all, no you shall not go! but really I just think he didn't like the idea of me on Dick's bike, and Argent was all, omg you're Anya's son, but really try not to notice that the other person in the photo is Peter Hale, because he thought that was the problem, and when I told Dad he said go see Peter and when you get back you're grounded. Apparently ditching Dick is not a good thing."

"He came to see me yesterday, Dick," Derek clarified, "he knew about the wolf thing," he said it offhand like it didn't matter, "and that you didn't tell him, then he proceeded to beat 50 shades of shit out of us, said he needed to spar."

"Yeah," Stiles said, "I really should have warned you about that. He does that. He's like black belt in five or so different martial arts, it's sickening really."

"He broke a tree." Derek said, "with Peter's nose."

Stiles sniggered at that. "He'll heal." He answered. "He's scared shitless of my Oma," he added, "had a panic attack, says she's going to kill him if she finds out he offered me the bite."

"He offered you the bite?" Derek asked archly.

"Before we killed him the first time." Stiles answered, waving it off, "not now, before, I said no, by the way, thanks for asking, it was when he was using me to get to Scott, although I can't help thinking he was using Scott to get to Kate, because that's the way he thinks, it's never just what it looks like, there's layers and layers and sometimes when you peel back the layers it sort of all makes sense, but because he was using me we found you that day, that's all, I said no." He repeated because that was the important thing. "I didn't want him to bite me, talk about creepy bad touch, and he wanted to bite my wrist, is that normal?" Derek was bemused again, Stiles, it seemed, once he got comfortable with someone just never stopped talking, it was more than he used when he didn't like someone. "Am I talking too much? I sometimes think you have like a word allowance of all the words you can use in one day and that's why you use your eyebrows, because seriously, they never shut up, and I'm wondering if I'm using your words too."

"Stiles," Derek said evenly. "Shut up."

Stiles just burst out laughing, it was a real belly laugh that shone in his eyes but when he stopped his look was puckish. "Don't you know, I'm in the middle of an existentialist crisis, I'm about to lock myself."

"Be locked," Derek corrected,

"Semantics," Stiles said with a grin, "in my room to read Heidegger and Kant and Marx and try to make sense of my family, which I'm not doing without a TV guide it's that much of a soap opera and you know every time I take a break Isaac will be there for needy hugs." Derek was almost smiling. "I like this," Stiles said, "talking with you. I love Scott, but recently he's been all Allison, Allison, Allison," he laughed to himself, "he's like that old anime, Miaka, Tamahome."

Derek faked stoic, it wasn't that different from his usual expression but Stiles could tell, his eyebrows were being that expressive he was thinking that they were attempting a Glee style montage of some Katy Perry happy song, perhaps I kissed a girl. "This soldier has taken off his armour and waited for you." He said.

Stiles made a happy noise that he would later be able to identify as a squee. "Oh my god, you've seen it, you're an otaku."

"One anime does not an otaku make." Derek answered, "I'd have to admit to a whole lot more than one." He shrugged it off, "Laura really liked it, I pretty much only saw the bus trip." He continued, "mostly I just came home and she'd be sat there sobbing, I don't think she ever cried so much as she did at that show." He was smiling to himself, "she would pause the tape and then fling herself at me for a hug like she was Isaac." It was nice, Stiles thought, that they could talk about Laura, when for so long Derek had shut himself off at mention of her. Stiles knew what that kind of mourning was like, when the hurt was so raw you just didn't talk about it, because it was easier.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, taking a large mouthful of the milkshake through his straw, "I saw Batman once," he said, because it didn't come out of nowhere for him.

"Dick said." Derek told him.

"I didn't think he knew, I never told him."

"He said that you were in the car and he zipped past."

"Oh that," Stiles shrugged it off, "but not then. When my Mom died, my dad kinda flipped out, hell we both did, and Alfred, he works for Bruce, he's like his Butler, stepped in, because if Dick was a mess we were like a hundred times worse, so he abducted us both, pretty much we were on the plane before we noticed, or at least before I noticed, I thought we were going for icecream. We stayed in this really posh hotel, and Bruce gave Dad like a week to get the worst of it out of his system, no questions asked, because sometimes that's what you needed and he'd look after me. I can't remember why we didn't stay at the mansion, but we were in this really posh hotel. And it was snowing." He trailed off a little, "I've never told anyone this before," he added quietly. "I didn't know what to do, and Alfred is like amazing, he was everywhere and Dick had school and stuff, and I went out on the balcony because it was quiet, because it was snowing. And I just sat there, in the snow."

Derek reached over and took his hand, it was enough, Stiles thought, he didn't have to say anything.

"And then Batman was there, sort of perched on the corner of the balcony, he's a lot bigger in person than flitting through the news like the world's zippiest photobomber. I mean's he was huge, and he sort of looked at me like he was surprised that I was there. He asked me if I was okay. I told him that my mom had just died. And do you know what he said, I mean, fucking Batman! He said, my mom died too. Then he told me it doesn't get any easier, you just get better at coping, and that I should go in, because it was cold and there were people who'd be worried. Then he was gone. And it was so much better than all that I'm sorry bullshit, because it's true, it doesn't get any easier, you just get better at dealing with it. So I like that you can tell me about Laura, because it means you're getting better at it, and I'd have liked to know her, because she must have been awesome." He smiled to himself, "I mean now you're not actively trying to kill me you're awesome, so she must have been to put up with you."

Derek didn't like the turn the conversation had taken, although trying to pin down Stiles' train of thought was like catching fireflies, there were so many you never knew which was the once which offended you in the first place. Stiles noticed it, clearly because he was fluent in eyebrow and when they narrowed in towards each other like that, like they wanted to hug each other, and damn he was around Isaac too much if he was thinking of it like that, "So, about Scott..." Stiles threw it out there.

"What about him?" Derek asked, because those fireflies were obviously laughing at him.

"I was just changing the subject." Stiles told him. "I don't know why I told you about Batman." Stiles said, "I mean, I didn't even tell my dad."

"Because I'd understand." Derek offered. "And you're in the middle of an existentialist crisis."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "Imagine you found out your entire family had this deep dark secret." The eyebrows were laughing at him now. "I mean another deep dark secret and that your Oma was like this super powerful witch and when you get old enough because no one thought to mention it to you you're accidentally summoning the dead like the world's wors't Anita Blake Vampire Humper impersonation." Derek's eyebrows suggested he didn't get that reference, and Stiles wasnt about to correct him, "and so your local vet, who when he isn't advocating neutering, is trying to teach you magic and it's mostly, it's fine I have a fire blanket, and it turns out that your mom was like this bridge between two ancient arch enemies and judging from the photos those two might have had a thing and then...." Stiles stopped, he was gesturing with the straw, flicking droplets of peaches and cream malt all over the table. "So yeah, existentialist crisis." He put his head on the table, because Derek took one of his hands again.

"Is this where I should start singing "your song"?" Derek asked

Stiles looked up at him agog for a second, and then burst out laughing. "Only if I can tell everybody that this is my song." His grin was puckish again, the anguish that had been there before completely gone. "You know, I've talked to you more since this whole Jackson debacle than Scott, we're," he stopped for a moment.

"In different places." Derek offered.

"Yeah." Stiles agreed, "it's like I talk to you and you listen even if I'm just talking crap, and a lot of the time I am just talking crap, like did you know Peter didn't know there was one Transformers movie or that new Indiana Jones film, unbelievable and it's like, I know I can talk to you and you'll listen and it's good, even if I am talking crap, because even if you don't say much, your eyebrows really do, I swear cover them and it would be like you were suddenly talking archaic Flemish or something, I wouldn't begin to know where to start, but, I like talking to you."

"It's probably the reason everyone thinks we're having sex." Derek told him. "Because we're together, talking so much."

"We have a song now." Stiles said, smiling, "and this booth is like totally ours, we're always here in this booth, talking about everything."

"Stiles," Derek said, in that warm way that suggested he understood. "Is there really a new Indiana Jones movie?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, then he laughed to himself, "You know what just occurred to me, if Peter hasn't seen the Transformers movies he sure hasn't seen Twilight." And then he chuckled and Derek chuckled right along with him.


	9. Chapter 9

Derek and Stiles talked for what seemed like hours, nursing peaches and cream malts and coffee and slices of pie Susan slid them because they looked so sweet, and damn if it didn't make Stiles blush because this woman had practically been changing his diapers, and she had knit him caps when he was a baby, and that she gave Stiles two thumbs up when she looked at Derek really didn't help.

Derek didn't miss the gesture or that she had given him his favourite pie, strawberry and rhubarb if Stiles would be forced to guess "That woman changed my diapers." Derek said.

"Mine too." Stiles agreed. "It's just weird." Then he tucked into his pie because good banana cream pie waited for no man. And Susan made the best pies. He made a decadent and rather dirty moan at the first forkful. THe eyebrows laughed at him and then Derek tried his own pie. He made a noise that was straight out of a porn movie.

Stiles just laughed with a mouthful of banana cream. "Man," he joked, "I'm guessing this is the first time that you've had Susan's pie since you've been back in town."

"The pies in Massapequa just didn't compare." Derek agreed as Susan was laughing behind the counter. "And she remembered my favourite."

"I'm pretty sure that she sees us all as we were when we were like six, and that evil mind of hers is wasted on making pies, I mean sure they're like the best pies, she does this thing with cherry pies that is just, but yeah, if she wasn't making pies and the best meatloaf, have you tried her meatloaf, then it would be world domination all the way baby." Stiles did something remarkable then, "wanna try this one?" He said, "I mean, if you don't think banana cream pie would completely ruin your reputation."

Derek just reached over with his fork and took a surprisingly dainty piece, then popped it into his mouth. "Oh that's good." He groaned out. "But mine is better." He forked up a small piece and offered it to Stiles, who just dutifully opened up to taste and made a happy groan around it. Derek's tongue flicked out to get a stray piece of cream that was just in the corner of his mouth, where Peter Pan had a kiss that was just from Wendy, and wow, Stiles thought, where did that come from, it was an unusual segue even for him, and he'd spent the morning working out the logistics of a werewolf chestburster.

"Oh man," he groaned, "it's contagious."

Derek just rolled his eyes like of course it was and what was Stiles worried about. He was mostly used to Stiles by now, and they mostly got along, as long as Stiles didn't question him publically.

"Part of your existentialist crisis?" Derek asked, "then you won't mind if I finish your pie."

Stiles grabbed the plate and using his fork shoved as much of it as he could in his mouth. And Derek laughed and it was a good look on him, even his eyebrows seemed much less suspicious than normal. When Stiles eventually swallowed, which took three attempts but Susan always cut him a large slice of pie, he said, "this is why everyone thinks we're in a relationship."

His phone beeped and he fished it out of the hoodie in his pocket as Derek was still grinning at him like anything right now could make him burst out laughing again. "It's from Dick," Stiles said, "it reads, what do you do if you come across a werewolf in the woods? Apologise for not wearing protection!" Derek went quiet for a moment and then laughed again, when the punchline hit him. "See what I mean about inconvenient relatives." He thumbed the back button to get it back to the main screen. "Oh man," he said, "it's that late already, if it's nearly three here it'll be nearly five on the east coast, fuck." He pulled out his wallet and from it extracted a small business card, and held up his hand for Derek to wait for him, suggesting that this call was reasonably important and he didn't think it would take that long.

The man who answered the phone had a chocolate sex voice with a hint of an English accent in his vowels. "Jason Blood." It was a curt answer to the phone.

Stiles swallowed a little, "hi, I'm calling about a book."

"Where did you get this number?" the man asked, it really was a chocolate phone sex voice, all dark rich consonants and honey vowels.

"My cousin, Dick Grayson," Stiles said trying to be polite and not just melt into the booth's bench seat. "He said you could help me find it."

"There are many places to find books, Barnes and Noble have a pretty good selection," the man said, his voice was dripping sarcasm, "and then there's Amazon, what makes you think I can help?"

"It's been out of print since the mid eighties, and it's really rare, I checked Amazon and Barnes and Noble and ABE and none of them have it, and well, it's kind of important." He was playing with his fork whilst Derek watched on, still nibbling on his pie trying to make it last clearly. "And well, Dick thought you might be able to help, so he gave me your number, but if you can't."

"What's the name of the book?" That was curt and crisp and not at all as sexy as the man's voice sounded, seriously it was like a pissed off British Billy Zane.

"The Boy who runs with Wolves by Anastasia Morozova."

The phone was quiet for a second and then he spoke again. "Can I ask why you want it?"

Stiles sighed down the line, "I want to read it," he said as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, "the author, it was my mom."

There was another pause on the other end of the line. "I don't have it in stock," he said, "however I know where there is a copy, but it's in a very sorry state, all of the pages are there but it has no cover and severe water damage. I mostly deal with collectors, you understand, they don't want to read their books." He stopped for a moment, "I had one collector who wanted a first edition of Tolstoy and was then horrified it was in Russian." Stiles couldn't help but smile at that. "I'll fetch the book for you and have it bound, where do you want me to post it?"

"Aren't you going to tell me how much?" Stiles wasn't nearly stupid enough to think that he might be able to afford it, if the man was going to go to that much bother. He was of course going to tell him to charge Dick.

"On the house," the man said, "on one condition. I am of course going to check with Grayson, but this is not an easy number to come by, it certainly is not the one in the directory, you have called me on my unlisted private land line which gives credence to your claim that you got the number from Grayson, if he backs up your story I'll send the book on, but, assuming of course he verfifies your story, I'm going to include with it a copy of the prospectus for Gotham Miskatonic university. That is my condition, that you read through it and honestly decide if you want to go there."

"Dick didn't go to Gotham Misk." Dick had gone to Princeton and it was suggested that Stiles was going to Princeton because Bruce had offered to pay and Bruce's family went to Princeton.

"Dick's mother wasn't Anastasia Morozova, Mr Stilinski." The man dropped Stiles' name like it was nothing, just more honey and chocolate dripping from his lips. "Or do you prefer Srdecni-Draha." Stiles nearly dropped the phone, the man had not only known his name, he'd said it, and pronounced it right.

"Stiles is fine, thank you." He paused for a moment, "Mr Blood," he added, "you should definitely have called your store Books of Blood."

There was a moment and then the voice laughed, and even his laugh was honey and chocolate and gold, and seriously couldn't the man have a wheeze or a donkey bray or something. Stiles was hoping he was really ugly, otherwise the universe just wasn't fair. "Now I am certain you are Grayson's cousin, he makes that joke to me regularly. I shall get your address from him, Stiles," he said the name so carefully as if testing it. "Also, this is just a small thing, a favour if you will. There is a persistant rumour about the book, I say persistent for there is a kernal of truth in it and it will allow me to possibly silence requests for it. Morozova, your mother, she signed a two book deal, and apparently handed in both manuscripts before the publisher went bust." He stopped for a moment as Stiles listened. "And her Skinwalker is the second most requested fictional book I get asked for after Buttercup's Baby by Morganstern." Stiles smiled at that, he had, he admitted, googled that one, "if you could search through her things, possibly come up with an answer either way it would be doing me a great favour, and my favours are considered valuable in some corners."

Stiles bit his lip. "I'll look, I can't make promises though, I only just found out that she'd written one book."

"I understand." Blood said down the line. "Now if that is all I shall have to leave you, I have tea in the pot and it will be on the verge of stewing. If you do find any evidence either way, or even find nothing at all, let me know. I will be in your debt, Stiles."

Stiles thanked him and hung up. "So you heard all that." He said to Derek.

"He had a really sexy voice." Derek agreed, "like Billy Zane covered in dark chocolate." And Stiles just burst out laughing again. "Imagine him reading," Derek was playing now, doing this deliberately so that Stiles would laugh, "he'd make the telephone directory really sexy."

"It wouldn't be the directory." Stiles said, "he was adamant that he wasn't in that." And then he started laughing again.

His phone beeped again with four missed messages from Dick.  
"Am in the Daily Planet Newsroom - much more boring than it sounds."  
"LL hotter in real life - but smoker yuck"  
"Just got asked where's the coffee - mistaken for intern, bonus!!!"  
"deity, clark, how long does a person need to spend on the phone i bet he's talking to his mom"

Stiles quickly typed off a response. "Y not bother J?"

"It's Dick, he's bored." Stiles told Derek, smiling to himself. This kind of text conversation with Dick wasn't unusual. He got another text which was clearly forwarded on.

"Am in Budapest assface costs fortune to get txts fuck off!!!!!!!!!"

He showed the text to Derek, "see, its not just me he bothers."

There was another beep and Derek clearly opened it and laughed. "Place swarming with minions, like despicable me, am calling coffee boy phil coz can" then a second beep "phil earned kiss on head, hazelnut in coffee! & cookee yum. Wot u doin?"

Stiles thumbed out a quick reply. "at Lazy Susans diner w/ D, eatin pie"

The next text caught him by surprise because there was a short interval, possibly coffee and cookie related on Dick's end where Derek went to the counter and paid for their drinks and pie. It simply said "Date! Date! Date! Date!" Stiles decided that radio silence was really the best answer to that. Then were was a second text "considering date with phil coffee that good, sux you cant have some. Would b less bored if u was ere"

Stiles just pocketed his phone and decided to ignore any more texts from Dick, who was clearly just texting because he was stuck waiting and had nothing better to do than flirt with some Daily Planet minion in the hope of more coffee. "He thinks we're having a date and he's still pestering me." Stiles said. "He's really bored."

Derek held out his hand for the phone and answered a text calmly. Whatever he said there was a good fifteen minutes before Dick answered. "You can't just threaten to rip his throat out with your teeth, sourwolf." Stiles laughed.

"I gave him Isaac's number." Derek answered calmly. "He likes him." And at the door as they left the diner Stiles was laughing again.

"Are you pimping out your puppies?" Stiles said faking a serious voice.

"Yes." Derek said eventually. "It's all in a good cause, and I will, of course, attempt to break his legs if he hurts him." He was quiet for a moment, "maybe if I sneak up on him." And Stiles just laughed out loud again. "Hey, you think if I offered he'd be pack, seriously he could probably take down half the supernatural nasties on the west coast before breaking out a sweat." And Stiles laughed again.

"I wish I could have seen it." Stiles said sadly. "The last time I saw Dick fight it was a bunch of muggers who I think gave up crime that day." Derek was still laughign as they reached the car where it was parked.

He climbed into Derek's camaro, "are you driving me back to Peter so I can take the jeep home?" he asked fastening his seat belt because safety first.

"No, I'm driving you home, and you're going to give me your keys and when our hunt is over tonight Isaac will drive her back for you. I don't like you going to Peter's house alone." Derek started the car and a burst of Katy Perry filled the air. Stiles raised an eyebrow in an expression that was pure Derek. "I blame Erica." Derek said, "I regret nothing."

"and there was me thinking that you and Boyd were there in front of your mirrors with your hairbrushes doing Britney Spears impressions." Stiles said with a laugh.

"You're the one who let the drag queens make you over." Derek answered, "you can't talk."

"I made a very pretty girl." Stiles said with pride, "I looked fabulous. I learned all about Diana Ross that night. I have nothing to regret. Je ne regret rien." He stopped, "okay I regret not taking off all the makeup before I went to bed because pan stick does not come out of cotton, who knew. I regret that, but that doesn't count, and there is nothing bad about sitting around with a group of queens because you're having a shitty night and you need something that doesn't matter and you're all half watching Burlesque and complaining that it made the Divine Cher look like a bellowing bull moose as they try out different nail polishes." He sounded almost defiant. "Everyone should have a drag family." He said.

"What did your Dad say about that?" Derek asked.

"That I didn't have the shoulders to pull off Princess Leia." Stiles said.

Derek sharply jerked his head and then looked Stiles up and down. "He's right." He said finally.

"Hey," Stiles protested, "I could totally pull off the slave bikini." He said. "Apparently I have the legs for it."

"And the shoulders of a line backer." Derek said very pointedly keeping his eyes on the road.

"You're just saying that because you're not ready for this jelly." Stiles answered calmly. "Do you know what Dick said when he found out about my drag family. He said, I'm going to tell you exactly what Bruce said to me when I said I might like boys too." He took a very meaningful pause. "It means you're normal and I will punch anyone in the face who tells you different," there was another pause, "and if you ever have a problem like this again you know what to do." There was another pause. "Go straight to Alfred." Stiles laughed to himself. "Because seriously, Bruce can be such an ass but Alfred's awesome, when I last called him with my monthly I'm not dead check in, because Alfred needs the reassurance, I said that Jay said Bruce was being an ass and he just said, he's poorly socialised, like he was a dog at the pound who snapped sometimes, but it's so true. So, I'm going to get Lydia to throw a costume party because it will be awesome and I'll get me a princess leia slave bikini just to prove to all you nay-sayers I can so pull it off." He looked across at Derek with a half smile, "and you can come as Chewbacca."

"Like Lydia would ever let someone else be a princess at her party." Derek said like he actually knew her, when really they barely knew each other well enough to say hello when they passed, which was odd because after Jackson Derek was the one who thought that she needed pack. He was quiet for a few long moments whilst Katy Perry sang between them, then he said, "I don't like around Peter, I can control him with the others, but not you."

"He's never hurt me, not really, he's pushed me around a bit, but he's never hurt me." Stiles makes that clear. "Man, you've been rougher, and he said he was under a goose."

"A geas." Derek corrected automatically pulling up outside Stiles' house. "It's a magical compuslsion, if the caster is strong enough it can completely dominate the person."

"If what I hear about my grandmother is true it's possible it's the reason he came back from the dead." Stiles said calmly, "and besides, Deaton's teaching me magic, if he tries something I'll try and set him on fire, again, although my aim's shit." He frowned at that. "I need to learn something else, because there comes a point when it's just cruel but fire is the easiest element to command and." He stopped. "Man, I need to learn some magic with air, because that would be kind of awesome, instead I'm like a fire bender with really bad aim."

"How bad?" Derek asked, actually sounding worried now as Stiles unlocked the front door.

"Deaton set up three candles and told me to just light the little one, I may have set fire to his easy chair." Stiles answered, "which was behind me. Deaton said it was all good though, because the chairs were flame retardant and he didn't expect me to actually summon fire for at least a few lessons so it was okay, and he had a fire blanket." He went to throw his keys down on the side board and handed them to Derek instead. "Not a scratch, okay." He said like he was trusting him with something far more precious than just his jeep. He paused and looked at him, "you're going hunting right, deer?" Derek gave a sort of if it happens shrug. "A few venison steaks wouldn't go amiss." He agreed. "It makes a red meat stew that I can feed Dad and not have to worry about him eating beef, just saying."

"You are taking a lot of this stuff much more calmly than I thought you would." Derek said as Stiles got two sodas from the fridge, zesti cola so Dick had bought them, Stiles tended to prefer Pepsi, and handed him one.

"I can only reasonably have one freak out at a time." Stiles shrugged, "Just make sure Isaac doesn't come back looking like a serial killer, there's only so much I can explain to my dad and I can't deal with him freaking out at the same time and..." he shrugged it off. "It's just."

"That existentialist crisis." Derek offered and Stiles just grinned. He hadn't noticed that Derek practically had him pinned against the counter but really he was very close and Derek was smelling him, as if checking that all traces of Peter had faded and he was leaning in, perhaps to sniff that part of his neck that Isaac always went straight to when he was hugging people so had to be the bit that smelled the best, and Stiles just held his breath.

"Hey," Isaac said coming into the kitchen. Derek whirled around almost fast enough to spill his stupid zesti cola. "Bad time?" he asked and he was all wide eyed innocence, the sort of innocence that had to be fake but he could pull it off because he was Isaac and had those curls and was the biggest wooby to ever have woobied. No one ever expected it to be Isaac. He was like the Spanish Inquisition like that.

And Stiles watched the transition that Derek made from sweet fun Derek who had been at the diner to badass Alpha who took no shit. He wouldn't have beleived that Derek had two transformations if he hadn't just seen it, or did the alpha form count as three. Stiles had read somewhere that there was another form where they just transformed their heads and was like their Anubis form, because the ancient Egyptian god was clearly a werewolf even if the archaeologists maintained that he was a jackal but seriously, who were they trying to kid, but there were lots of other gods who had animal heads - did that mean that there was were-crocodiles? Clearly he head more research to do. If there were were wolves what other kinds of creatures were they? There was the bestiary but that was half old latin half crazy person, and it kind of looked like the Voynich Manuscript. Did that mean that the voynich manuscript was a bestiary and that's why no one could read it because the words that they could translate came out as things no one had heard of in a long time?

"Stiles." Isaac said snapping his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. "You zoned out there, didn't you hear us talking."

"I think the Voynich manuscript might be a bestiary, a really old one." He said. "Do you think you can still get copies of that online?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Isaac told him, Derek looked equally clueless but around people, even pack he seemed less likely to actually talk, the eyebrows were expressive though. "Never mind, we're going now. Your Dad said he'd be home about eight and he's bringing Chinese because he has to work a double because of the staffing problem they have at the moment."

Stiles nodded, he was on the verge of something, he just knew it. Now he just had to figure out what he was on the verge of. Maybe Deaton would know. He waved them out as his brain tried to catch up with itself and actually reveal what it was that he was on the verge of actually understanding. Maybe Deaton would have access to other hunter bestiaries, being a lightkeeper. Was Deaton training him to be a lightkeeper too, or was he just making sure Stiles didn't burn down the house, but most of those things were either impossible or fictional, but then there were books that blurred that line. "Stiles," Derek asked leaning up against him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm just." He smiled. "man, that's genius." He said as the realisation took hold. He grinned and laughed to himself. "What's the best way to hide something in plain sight, you make it fictional, that way if you see a werewolf it's just a kid playing dress up right." It was so obvious. "Sure you see a vampire, but it's not a vampire right, because they're fictional. It's so obvious." He was laughing to himself.

"I don't think he should have any more zesti." Isaac said behind him.

"No, think about it, if you wanted to hide the fact that you were say, I don't know, Superman, you'd write lots of books about him because that way when someone asked you you could say, Superman's not real, he's just someone in books that I write. Same as if you called in Sherlock Holmes, then it doesn't matter if everyone recognises him because he's not real."

"Maybe we should phone Scott." Isaac says. "Or his dad." He looks concerned.

"No it's really simple, a year ago what would you have said if i said werewolves are real." He asked Isaac.

"Why are you talking to me?" Isaac answered honestly. "Because no one talked to me, but yeah, I'd have thought you'd played too much warcraft or something."

"See, if you say it's not real then you have no explanation for when it happens, but if you thrust it in everyone's face and go it's not real then if they see it then they don't think it's real at all."

Derek was blinking at him. "So you're saying that people probably published stories like that to cover up the fact that these things existed."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, "but there's probably also a whole fuckload of shit as well, but it makes sense, doesn't it, I mean it's so obvious that it has to be true." He was grinning.

Derek put his hand on his shoulder and looked him clear in the eye, the eyebrows looked concerned. "You're not to drink any more zesti cola." He said firmly. Stiles just burst out laughing. "Go hunt things, rabbits make great stew as well, I'm told. I'm going to bask in having the house to myself and do some reading."

"Vampires mostly live up north, you know, in Canada." Derek told him from the door, "they're nothing for you to worry about."

Stiles grinned. "I know, sour wolf, it says so in the bestiary. It's really clear, Canada's where the monsters live, which is why mounties are so bad ass."

Derek was still laughing whilst Isaac was making cuckoo noises as they left. "See if I let you ingrates eat any of my awesome rabbit pie!" he shouted and then added in a normal voice "that I am totally going to Alfred for the recipe for."

"We heard that." Isaac called back.

 

Alfred Pennyworth was the most patient man who ever had to be patient for anything and he always took Stiles' calls and talked with him for as long as Stiles needed to which wasn't often and mostly about things like worrying about his dad's eating and Alfred had a recipe for everything which was awesome and he didn't mind sharing. Stiles had said a hundred times that Alfred needed to get his own cooking book but Alfred was happy as it was making these things for the ungrateful people he worked for. And Stiles knew that they were ungrateful because they never appreciated his cooking the way that Stiles did. For his sixteenth birthday Bruce had given Stiles a check with the instruction to get himself a car and Alfred had sent him a tin of spiced fruit shortbread that was just.... And included in the tin was a little pack of recipe cards that included instructions on how to make them and they were basically healthy so he could make them for his dad and Alfred had been delighted to spend over an hour on the phone with Stiles just listening to him appreciate the cookies.

Alfred was awesome just because he put up with Bruce and Dick and Jay on a daily basis.

And Alfred was more than happy to give him his long trusted recipe for venison stew and rabbit pie but did warn him that most hunters weren't reputable so to make sure he got his game from a trusted dealer. Stiles was pretty sure that getting his game from a pack of werewolves counted. He also gave him a recipe for Borscht that was as good cold as hot and would be perfect for his dad to take to work with him and wasn't all salt and preservatives. He hadn't asked about the soup but Alfred suggested it saying he had just found the recipe and Bruce and Jay loved it enough that Bruce actually complimented him. This was a very big deal and suggested the soup was hella awesome. Apparently Jay just licked the plate.

When Alfred got off the phone Stiles checked what he needed for the soup, and then decided his dad wouldn't mind if he went grocery shopping, but the jeep was still at Peter's, so he had to take his bike out. He went there and straight back, and so by the time that his dad was back the soup was merrily simmering away and he was halfway through "the picture of dorian gray" by Oscar Wilde which was much easier to read than he had thought that it would be, and also kinda gay which he really should have expected but hadn't.

"Something smells good." His dad said lifting the lid of the pot which contained a burgundy liquid and floating lumps. "Please tell me that this is dinner and not one of those things you need to see a specialist for."

"It's dinner." Stiles answered. "It just looks like I'm boiling down a carcass for it's bones. It's soup." His dad gave him the look that suggested that he put up with a lot. Stiles was awesome at reading looks. "Try it."

Jed picked up a spoon and ladled up a small amount of the burgundy soup, blew on it then tasted it. "That's," he said quietly, "really good, have you been talking to Alfred again?"

Stiles nodded. "It goes with sour cream. And I made lots, so you can have some to take with you to work later, apparently it's even better cold." Jed just grinned at him. "And it's healthy." Stiles called as he went upstairs to shower. He'd be home for two hours, or long enough for a shower and some soup, and then he had to go out again, because they were still hideously short staffed but it had taken a weight off his mind that Isaac was living with them now because as crazy as the town got Stiles wasn't alone in the house any more. "And Derek said he'd bring me some venison for stew. How does that sound?"

"you have to hang venison." Jed shouted down the stairs.

"I know that, but you don't have to hang the rabbits for pie."

"As long as he cleans them first." Jed closed the bathroom door and left Stiles to his book.

Dorian Gray didn't take as long to read as Stiles had thought that it would, it wasn't a long book and the language was easy so he was just finishing it off as his dad came down the stairs. He had Sabine Baring Gould for later. Once he realised that he might be on to sometihng with the fictional werewolves idea he started reading all those horror novels that had been kicking around for centuries, because it was always best to start at the start.


	10. Chapter 10

It was nearly midnight when Dick came back from Metropolis. Stiles had sat reading, with occasional potty breaks and an utter groan that he had to get up to turn the light on, he'd had a cup of his borscht, which was as good as Alfred promised, and just read. He wondered if he should be making notes but it was always easier to make notes after the fact, when you'd gotten it all in and could just pick out the bits that were going to be useful. Montague Summers was a troll, which just made his books better. 

He had ended up bringing his laptop down and just trawling through Project Gutenberg for books, some of which were awesome and you could see why they had lasted centuries, and some of which were just plain shit. There were ones like Dracula where the author had clearly gotten bored about half way through, because it started off really detailed and slow, and then got more and more rushed as it reached the end. A quick wiki trek had revealed a new novel based on the idea that Dracula was a true story had been published called Supping with Panthers and he put a bid in on ebay to pick up the book for next to nothing, then he rolled his eyes and wondered if Jason Blood could get him the whole series, because it was apparently book two of four.

Dick opened the door and said, "I'm sick," by way of greeting before he went into the downstairs toilet and threw up, thus proving his statement beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Stiles nearly dropped his laptop in his hurry to get it out of the way of fire, and to get Dick water and a blanket and whatever else you did for sick people. When Stiles or his dad were sick it was a case of staying in their room and not messing with people, they crawled out of bed for juice or tylenol. Dick didn't seem to get that memo, because after he had finished being sick, and that was like something out of Team America, he rinsed his mouth out, fished out a packet of mints from his tight jeans, though how Dick managed to breathe in his jeans was a matter of some speculation and then glomped unto Stiles.

He flopped onto the couch and groaned. "I haven't been sick in years." He said holding the cup of ginger ale Stiles had found a bottle of at the back of the cupboard. "I knew I felt crappy, but I thought it was jet lag." His head lolled onto Stiles' shoulder, pulling the blanket that Stiles had draped over the back of the couch over him. "Sasha," he whined, "I feel really bad."

Stiles, with a long suffering sigh and a roll of his eyes, pressed the flat of his palm against Dick's forehead, "man, you're burning up." He said, and then extricated himself from under his cousin, "I'm going to call Melissa, I don't think this is just something you ate." With an amount of grace and dexterity that Stiles could never hope to meet Dick collapsed onto the arm of the chair still holding the mostly full cup of ginger ale without spilling a drop.

Melissa had made a point to not work full moons, despite that the hospital went crazy with admissions from the ER those nights, the sheriff's department was just as busy because it seemed you didn't need to be a werewolf to go moon-mad in Beacon Hills, so there was someone there in case something happened on the moon runs. Stiles, who was always encouraged to stay in on those nights, just in case, was on call too, when he wasn't grounded. "Hi, Mrs McCall, it's Stiles."

"Scott's not in." She said quietly, he could practically see her expression, "and I thought you were grounded."

"I am," Stiles agreed, "but it's," he went quiet, "Dick's here from Gotham, and he's sick, I mean, really sick, he's really hot and shivering," which Dick was now doing, his teeth chattering loudly from across the room, "and he's been sick, and I don't know what to do."

"Oh, Stiles," Melissa said sadly and it wasn't an expression of disgust, like he often got for the things he got Scott involved in, but more like she was really sad. "I'll come over, okay." Then she hung up on him, and Stiles went back to his cousin who had taken over the whole couch, and who despite the shivering and cup of ginger ale, which he hadn't given up his hold on, wrapped himself up in the blanket like a burrito.

"How did you drive back like this?" Stiles asked him again, as he pulled Dick's boots off, "where's your bike?"

"Hired chopper," he said through shivers, "Bruce will have a fit, but." He shrugged, "Clarke's idea," he looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he might be sick again, but just gave a little burp. "He was the one who was there."

"Well we'll thank Clarke in the morning, okay," Stiles ran his hand over Dick's hair, trying to make him feel better. "Maybe a fruit basket." And Dick tried to laugh through the shivers. "If it makes you feel any better you really do look as bad as you feel. Want me to put a movie on?"

"I'm ruining your night in." Dick whined feeling more and more sorry for himself as his teeth chattered.

"I was going to watch a movie anyway," Stiles lied, "how does the Avengers sound?" He slipped the case from the rack, "brainless with Scarlett Johannsen and Jeremy Renner to make it pretty. You wouldn't have seen it, you were in Tibet."

"did see it," Dick muttered, "in Hong Kong, with the best awful subtitles." He tried to smile through the shivers, "put it on, Hawkeye always reminds me of Arsenal."

"I know right," Stiles said popping open the case to put it in the player, "you'd think he'd sue."

"Too busy fighting crime." Dick said, sipping his ginger ale.

The film was nearly a half hour into it's run time before Melissa appeared. The worst of the shivers had subsided when Stiles lifted Dick bodily, and inserted himself into the space he had had before Dick took over the entire couch. It was probably body heat that was doing it, but Dick groaned when Stiles got up from where he was stroking Dick's hair, to answer the door to Melissa. She looked tired, and a little harried, with her cardigan pulled over a long sleeved tee with a scoop neck and buttoned up wrong, and she was wearing her trainers without socks. It looked like she had been trusting Derek to cope with the wolves on the moon run and was just appreciating a rare night off. "Hello, Dick," she said after she greeted Stiles and handed him a CVS bag, "how are you feeling?"

Dick grunted a response, then thought better of it, as she pulled a thermometer out of her pocket, she shook it and he dutifully opened his mouth. "This one goes in your ear, honey," she said, sitting down beside him, because even though Dick was almost a stranger to Melissa she was still a Mom and sometimes that's what you needed, especially when you were sick. She stuck the thermometer in his ear and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, "and you've been sick?" she asked. He nodded dutifully showing her the cup of ginger ale.

"I've been wretched for a few days, but i thought it was just from the travel, you know from Tibet to Hong Kong and then to New York, and then to San Francisco and then here, and I went to Metropolis this morning, I thought I was just tired and a bit jet lagged and that's why I hurt."

She looked at the thermometer. "No, honey, you have the flu." She said quietly, smoothing down his hair, "which means you're going to be wretched for a couple more days, lots of fluids, rest and paracetamol, which I've put in the bag for you. You're lucky you've got Stiles to look after you, you've got a fever, but it's not worryingly high."

"But I don't get sick." Dick whined.

"You went to college, didn't you?" she asked, "well you know how everyone gets sick their first term, because all the minor germs you're used to they have no defence against, well, a year in Tibet and guess what, all the normal germs hit you because you've been so healthy." Dick pouted. "I know, honey, and it's probably worse for you because you don't get sick, but rest, fluids and paracetamol, and if your fever goes up another two points Stiles is going to call an ambulance for you, because the last thing we want is your brain baking in your pretty head."

"It is a pretty head." Dick agreed and sort of crawled into himself a bit more. "Should have stayed in Metropolis." He muttered.

"Now that would have been a stupid idea," Melissa agreed as Stiles fussed about and handed her a cup of tea. "Imagine feeling like this and being alone in a hotel room."

"Done it before." Dick grumped.

"Doesn't mean you should do it when you don't have to, honey." She told him, patting his head again. "Thanks for the tea, Stiles, that's a lovely blanket, where did you get it?" She was rubbing one of the squares of it between her fingers, it was a mishmash of different styles and colours and patterns crab stitched together.

Both Stiles and Dick froze for a moment. "My Mom made it." Stiles said finally. "She used to knit squares when she was waiting for things."

Dick offered a little smile, a small one to himself. "She said it was like people forgot she could listen just because she was knitting, and she always heard the best gossip. She'd sit outside court rooms and knit and people forgot she was bad ass because she was making blankets." He laughed a little to himself, a sort of disgusted snort. 

"Well it's a beautiful blanket." Melissa said in that fierce way Moms had. "And I wish I'd known her better."

Stiles repressed the urge to say, me too. "You'd have gotten a blanket too then." Dick said, "she made so many of them, just waiting for things, I must have five back at the mansion." It was a deflection, Dick had said too much because he was sick, because he wasn't as guarded as usual. Anya was like a secret between the family, someone cherished and precious and never spoken of. "Can you knit, Mrs McCall?"

"No," she said, "I never had the time."

"I could teach you," Stiles blurted out, it had been so long since he'd had a Mom and Scott's Mom had always been Scott's Mom who looked after him by proxy and maybe all the existentialist bullshit of the past few days, of learning how much more awesome his Mom had been than he had thought, maybe he just wanted that proxy.

"I still don't have the time," she said, "but thank you very much for the offer, and I'm going to go back to my movie and my hot chocolate, thank you for the tea, Stiles, and if anything happens, you boys call me, you hear." They agreed that they would and when she was at the door neither needed to be werewolves to hear her say that they were all too damned young.

 

Dick dozed through most of the Avengers, getting up only to be sick in the downstairs toilet, which Stiles had since outfitted with a toothbrush and the spare tube of toothpaste because being sick was nasty and the last thing you wanted was for the taste to linger.

He didn't even wake up when the aliens started invading New York but stumbled to the toilet, dragging the blanket behind him when the Hulk attacked Loki, casting some of the best shade in movie history with one of his few lines of actual dialogue. With a deeply traumatised sigh, Stiles turned off the film and TV, "Come on, you," he said when Dick reappeared, the ring of his mouth still foamy with toothpaste, "you need to go to bed."

"I do," Dick said and half stumbled, half dragged himself up the stairs. Stiles stayed behind for a few moments, sending a text to his Dad, and a second to Isaac making sure that they knew that Dick was sick, and that Isaac might want to not come home because of it, because he was sure that stuff stank, before he found Dick sitting on the edge of the bed staring at his converse - a trait Stiles shared with his cousin was that they lived in their chucks - "I can't get my shoe off," he said, "when I try to bend down my head gets all swirly." And he sounded so pathetic that Stiles rolled his eyes and got down to do the deed. He had figured out that the only way that this was going to happen is if he got into the guest bed with Dick, because Dick was clingy and he was sick, and it wasn't like Dick hadn't crawled into bed with him a hundred times before.

When he had Dick undressed because seriously, he was incapable at the moment, tangling up in his tee and wobbling when he stood up to take his jeans off, and they were as tight as they looked, before putting him into a left over pair of his dad's winter pyjamas, which were plaid and flannel and awesome because Stiles had bought them for him when he was little and hadn't known that his dad didn't wear pyjamas to bed, and that had been a traumatic discovery - because you'd think that someone would put pants on to get milk out of the fridge in the middle of the house, but not his dad.

"Do you want me to call Alfred?" Stiles said, pulling off his jeans to get into the bed with his cousin. Seriously, there were so many werewolves in his life for long enough now that sharing a bed was just natural. 

"In the morning," Dick said as he collapsed unto the bed, as soon as Stiles pulled back the blanket for him. He was a sweating shivering lump at the moment and he got sick so rarely that Stiles was indulging him a bit. Okay, Stiles was indulgning him a lot, but Dick was family and Stiles didn't have a lot of that left so he tended to cling on tight with every breath of his body.

"I never understood," Stiles said, as Dick burrowed into his side for warmth with the comforter tugged tight about him, "Why you lived with Bruce, why Mom and Oma didn't make you stay here."

Dick burped to himself, "he didn't let me see," he said quietly, "when they fell," he paused, the wound still raw after all these years, "he grabbed me, he pushed me into his chest so I couldn't see." He stopped, "then he sat with me at the police station, I didnt know then, about his parents, but..." he yawned, drowsy and dozy and most of his defences down, "and you were a baby, there were nightmares and I was so angry and Bruce understood that, I don't think," he stopped, "I don't think you'd understand, and Bruce does, yanno. He gets it, yeah he's an ass, but he didn't let me see." He burrowed in a bit further, draping his arms over Stiles' chest, "sometimes, Sasha, people look at you, and they don't get it, but they look at you because they're sorry for you, and that is the worst, the absolute worst, Bruce has never looked at me like that, because he knows what's it like. And," he yawned again, sleep and sickness pulling him under, "Oma would have ripped him a new one if he'd had any ulterior motives." Stiles chuckled because it was so true. Oma was fierce, she would have ripped him a whole army of new ones. Stiles hadn't needed to know that his Oma was the Wicked Witch of the Pacific North West to know that.

He went to say something but was stopped when he realised that Dick was asleep, hand fisted in Stiles' tee and looking young and vulnerable. Stiles just cast a look to his phone to make sure no one had texted him back before he went to sleep himself.

\--

Stiles woke up early, feeling like he was feverish himself he had that clammy sweaty feeling, but other than that he felt fine, even if Dick was now curled up on the other side of the queen bed curled around a pillow with all the blankets wrapped around him so he was a sort of Grayson Burrito. Stiles flopped out of the bed to the shower.

Sleeping with Dick was normal, they had always done it, back from when Dick was more raw than he was now and Stiles was just a baby. Whenever Dick came although they made the show of the spare room both Stiles and his dad knew that at some point that Dick would crawl into bed with Stiles, and sometimes both of them had gotten into bed with Jed. Gotham had been good to Dick, but there were still nightmares and sometimes Stiles had nightmares too, and it was easier to just get into bed with Dick, who never minded, than talk about them.

So that Isaac, who was part puppy never mind werewolf Stiles was sure, would join them wasn't remarkable, Stiles just hoped the box-spring could take it. Isaac couldn't see a hug without wanting to get in on it, so joining Stiles and Dick in a puppy pile was just inevitable, and maybe Isaac slept better like that too.

Stiles got out of the shower ravenous, glad he'd made all that soup the day before because he had forgotten to eat in his reading binge. So wearing fresh clothes and feeling a hundred percent better than he had when he awoke, he went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of milk and finally noticed that the downstairs of the house was clean. No, that was wrong, it was immaculate. It was like it was someone else's house.

He looked at his watch, which said it was ten am, and then around the house again. Did house cleaning elves work on the full moon? His Dad was sat at the kitchen table looking at papers as he nursed what would probably be his last coffee of the day before he went to bed after his shift. "Good job on the cleaning, son," he said, "I thought with you being grounded it would have just been days on Skyrim or Halo."

"Jay's in Eastern Europe." Stiles said still a bit shell shocked because the walls were clean - like they'd been washed. That really wasn't usual. "I just read. I didn't do this."

"Must have been Isaac then." The Sheriff said calmly, "he and Scott were here when I got up this morning, he did say that the house stunk of vomit and pinesol." That was clearly reason enough in werewolf world for this level of cleaning. Stiles shrugged because if they'd done this he didn't need to. He got a cup out to ladle out some soup when he noticed the pot was gone. He opened the fridge again to see if they'd just put it there when they'd cleaned but there was no jug, or tupperware containers that hadn't been there before.

They had eaten all of the soup. All of it. There was a week's worth of meals for three people there, and they had eaten it. All. And Stiles hadn't gotten any of it. And he couldn't curse them out with his dad there. Werewolves, the horror never ended.

To make matters worse, when he checked his phone he had a text from Derek. "Thx for the soup. Was really thoughtful. Always hungry after a run. Was delicious."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with DCU canon in this chapter. In some versions of the death of the Graysons Dick is prevented from seeing by the Circus folk, in others he sees everything. I wanted Bruce to have at least one redeeming factor because in canon he only adopted Dick after he had gone into the system and snuck out to kill Tony Zucco, leaving Bruce with the dilemma that he could either train this kid or fight him later. So he did step up, but mostly in the comics, he's an ass. Awesome but completely useless at dealing with people - especially Dick.


	11. Chapter 11

Dick slept through the most of the next day and Stiles read for a while, made some chicken broth, from Alfred's infallible "so easy Jay can make it" recipe, then farted around on the internet for a couple of hours. Every now and again Dick was awake for a while, long enough to manage some tea and broth, because seriously, the recipe never failed and was awesome, and worth waking out of a fever sleep for.

As it started to get dark Dick decided he'd clearly slept enough, because he pulled himself into a seated position and blinked at the television. "Where's 'Zac?" He mumbled through what sounds like a mouthful of cotton wool, then fished around the table beside the couch for his soda to wash his mouth out. The half empty, and obviously completely flat, can of zesti cola was situated between a pile of used tissues and cough sweets.

"He's at Scott's, he didn't want to disturb you, he was here for a bit earlier." Stiles offered from the chair by the window.

"S'not exiled." Dick protested, "can come home, am sick, not mean." Then he stretched his arms above his head and popped out the shoulders of his neck and muscles.

Stiles laughed, "werewolf noses." Stiles told him, "you kinda stink to me, so, I just think Isaac didn't want to get too close and offend you."

"Can shower." Dick said, trying to find his feet. "Call him, bring him back, can't get sick." Dick sat down again, "ooh, that wasn't fun. I stood up and my head didn't."

"Take some more paracetamol and go back to sleep." Stiles told him, "I'll sit over here where you're not so stinky."

"I've been asleep all day." Dick was pouting. "And I'm bored, entertain me."

"Who do you think you are," Stiles said, folding down the corner of his page so he wouldn't lose his place. "Kurt Cobain?" He picked up his phone. "Okay, I'll send out an invitation for a movie night, it's not my fault then if the wolves don't want to sit next to you."

"All this," he stopped to cough, "olbas oil and menthol they'll smell better than they ever have, put hair on their chest." He wiped his nose which had begun to drip, before tucking his blanket back over his feet.

Stiles laughed at that. "I'm sure that will delight Erica, this is a girl who asked if the change would give her six tits?"

"Did it?" Dick asked, completely nonplussed.

"Actually no."

"Did you check?" Dick was leering now, when he wasn't coughing.

"No!" Stiles protested.

"Would she mind if I did?" 

"She's sixteen." Stiles levered himself out his chair to find his phone.

"That's the legal age." Dick answered.

"Yeah, in Europe, not in California." 

Dick blinked for a moment. "Really?" Then he pulled a face. "Well, that sucks." He coughed into a handkerchief that was balled up in his fist. "Baby boy is going to stay a baby longer. Is that why you and Derek are on the down low even though your dad knows?"

"Derek and I are on the down low because there is nothing between me and Derek, Scott's been an asshole lately because of Allison and I needed someone to talk to about all this werewolf bullshit and Derek was there."

"How much of an asshole?" Dick patted the couch beside him. It was a signal that he could tell Dick everything and Dick would understand because he hadn't met Allison at all.

"She stabbed Isaac and he forgave her. It's like it doesn't matter what happens in his world as long as she's smiling, and she's got him wrapped around her finger and she says jump and he doesn't even ask how high, and at first, yeah it was cute, before I discovered she's a two faced psycho. I mean," he stopped, letting out his breath, "she seems all sweet and nice and then she's stabbing Isaac."

"Bad taste in women, tell me about it. Did I ever tell you about Helena?" Dick asked. 

"The elementary school teacher?" 

"And mob assassin." Stiles grimaced. "I swear every person I've been with has been psycho and I've not known it until I was invested. Let's see, well, Babs was awesome and far too good for me and knew it, even before she got shot and got hardcore, so yeah, that was never going to last. Then there was Kory, she's from this warrior culture and she looks at sex like sleep, something you need to do but otherwise a waste of time she could be doing something more productive with." Stiles looked agog at this. "Garth had.."

"Garth!" Stiles threw his book at him, "you knew how I felt about Garth, I said I was going to marry him and he agreed."

"Sasha, you were six. The year before you wanted to marry Kermit the Frog until Bruce explained that Miss Piggy would never let him go, you cried for weeks."

"Kermit and me we were meant to be. Miss Piggy would never have come between us. She'd understand our love." Stiles protested, "and Garth?"

"Emotionally unavailable, but the sex was good. Seriously when they put emotionally unavailable in the dictionary it will have a picture of Garth. Then there was Selina, but we were both doing that to make Bruce jealous, do I need to go on?" Stiles cocked an eyebrow. "There was Donna."

"No way! Donna would chew you up and spit you out."

"And she did." Dick sighed. "Want me to have the heart to- I know you're in love with a psycho but I've been there - heart with Scott?"

Stiles made a disparaging noise. "Her family are werewolf hunters and he was bitten before they met, how was that going to end well? and she's managed to get his head so twisted up that he thinks that Derek is this glowering douche and he's never really spoken to him, and," he stopped, "and she helped her psycho aunt torture Derek and she's like a fucking sheep, she just goes with whatever people say and it's like I know lets go and electrocute some werewolves and stab them with arrows, umm kay, no, Allison, werewolves are good, umm kay."

"Have you told her that you feel like this?" Dick sounded concerned.

"When I went the other night to see her dad because of the photo she was all get the hell out of my house even though it had nothing to do with her and I spent months being the go between her and Scott because I wanted to believe the best in her but she's just." He took a deep breath. "And Scott's all moon eyed over her so what am I supposed to do, he's my friend and I want to support him but she's bad news. And not even because of the werewolf thing. It's like she has no personality except what other people want her to be and he deserves better than that."

Dick patted the couch again and this time Stiles sat down next to him, to be engulfed in a massive hug. "I feel like I should be looking around for Isaac." Stiles laughed into his arms. "He's not one to miss out on a hug."

"He needs them more than we do." Stiles agreed. "So he's developed a supernatural hug sense, it's like my werewolf senses are tingling, there must be a hug I have to get in on."

Dick laughed and then turned his head coughing. "Being sick sucks, by the way."

"Yep, and if you go back to Gotham and I come down with your nasty then I am going all the way over there to kick your ass." Dick just laughed into his handkerchief.

\--

Lydia Martin made the decision that she was going to marry Dick Grayson when she was five years old. She had been taken to the park by her nanny. She had been having lots of fun playing on the slide and running with the other kids when she decided that she wanted to walk along the rope bridge and she was old enough to do it, despite that the signs said she was too young. So it possibly wasn't that much of a surprise that she slipped and fell and skinned her knee.

And then, like a knight in a story tale, he was there. He was there with Stiles, who back then was still Sasha to everyone before Jackson had started teasing him that it was a girl's name. That had prompted him to change his name quickly, although Dick had replied with calling Jackson Jackass which might have taken off it it hadn't involved a lot of five and six year olds being punished for having potty mouths.

"Oh, that looks sore," he said and rooted around in his pockets and pulled out an alcohol wipe in a packet and some Mr Men band aids, and by the time it occurred to her that she should be crying he had it cleaned and covered, and with a grin that was like the heaven's parting he said, "now you're the prettiest girl on the playground again." And patted her on the head and went to the waste basket to throw away the wrappers.

As Lydia watched him go she walked over to her nanny and stated that she was going to grow up and marry Sasha's cousin. She repeated this at dinner that evening saying "I love Dick," which caused her father to choke on his dinner and her mother, who knew the boy, to go "that's nice, dear, but isn't he a little old for you?" She then proceeded to explain that he had given her a little miss sunshine band-aid when she hurt her knee and that he was handsome and a knight and she was going to marry him because he was the nicest boy in all the world.

As Lydia grew older she became more and more sure of the idea that she was going to grow up and marry Dick Grayson, and when her parents found out about the Wayne billions that came with him they were entirely behind the idea as well. Lydia was always keen to point out that she didn't love him for his money, but instead for a little miss sunshine band-aid, and as she grew older that just started to sound creepy. The more time she spent with Dick, and that meant putting up with Stiles during vacations when Dick was there, the more stupidly in love with him she found herself because Dick was nice and funny and affectionate and dressed nicely and smelt good and had the advantage of being six years older than they were.

Eventually she grew up and learned that Jackson was another person away from his friends and she liked that person, she liked him a lot, but there would always be a part of her that was stupidly in love with Dick Grayson, and may have printed out photos of him from TMZ and cut them out of gossip rags. One thing she had noticed however, and kept a little kernel of love in her heart, was that he preferred red heads, most of his girlfriends were all red headed and so Lydia kept her hair nice and healthy, she didn't blow dry it or straighten it, not that she really needed to, and only used a little product so that when he saw her hair he'd fall stupidly in love too.

 

She was sat in her room that night, watching the Vow, which she didn't like nearly as much as the Notebook, when the text came through, she lifted her phone with a sort of lackadaisical air that would have shown any observers, not that there was any, that she really didn't care, and read through it carefully. "Dick here, having movie night, wanna come? We have the Notebook." It was from Stiles.

Lydia nearly sprained her ankle jumping off the bed. Of course she wanted to come, now the problem was what to wear so that she looked amazing but not like she had tried too hard. It was kismet, she and Jacks were broken up and Dick came to town, kismet, she was going to marry Dick Grayson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want this to turn into an Allison bitch-fest but then Stiles just took the lead and got angry talking with someone who'd listen and understand. The thing is once he started I couldn't help but see her that way. Funny how these things work out, isn't it?  
> The next chapter is one of the stories


	12. Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast  
A fiction by S Stilinski

Beauty was a goldsmith's daughter. She had soft red hair and pale skin and those who came to visit her father often commented that she was the loveliest thing in the shop and her father would laugh and say that yes, she was, she was his treasure. She had another name but everyone called her Beauty and she was happiest surrounded by people who loved her and books were her treasure. She had almost a dozen of them.

At night whilst her father sat by the fire setting his gems by the light of ten or more lamps, she would sit on the floor by his feet and read for her father loved her completely and denied her nothing.

Over time word spread of her Beauty, and minor lords travelled all over to buy trinkets for their mistresses from her father and to catch a glimpse of her, and with every telling her beauty grew but yet none managed to catch the girl's eye, even when the trinkets and shiny gewgaws that they bought from her father were offered to her. She refused them with soft laughter.

Now the mother of the queen of the land had been a great beauty, the sort of which stories are told about, and she heard about the goldsmith's daughter whose loveliness was so great that none knew her name and simply called her Beauty. She invited the girl to court, perhaps to showcase the loveliness of those other girls who served as her ladies, but found instead that the girl's peasant loveliness was remarkable but that her eyes were rarely out of a book, and if they were then the book was stuffed into the pochet of her gown. And the dowager loved her like a daughter and accepted her into her own house that she might make a better marriage but also to give her the freedom to choose who she would.

And word of her beauty spread even further and more men came to make love to her, and she refused them all. In fact the more she refused them the more adamant they became in wooing her, bringing her fine fabrics and lovely jewels for which she had no use, for her hair was the colour of old gold and her skin like winter cream.

But at night she dreamt of fire.

Then one day, as she found herself a quiet corner in which to spend time with her true loves, with a leather bound book in her hands, a prince crossed her path. She did not know him as such, for he looked like he might instead be a traveller or a merchant lost in the warrens of the Dowager's palace, and when he spoke to her it was not with words of love, but instead he explained that he was lost and would it be possible for her to guide him back to the main walkways. She agreed that she would and as they walked he further broke from tradition and asked her what it was that she was reading, so she told him, with the arrogance of someone who read well and expected nothing of the same from those who spoke to her.

The prince surprised her because for all his rough edges he was well read and he recommended another book to her and told her, as she opened the door to the main hall, that it was not often that he found a person that he could converse with so freely about such topics. Beauty smiled to herself and her beauty dazzled but he made no comment of it, unlike those others who came, instead he patted about his coat and offered her another volume.

Beauty considered that to be everything with the man, and kept the book well in case that he returned and wished for it back, but when he did return he had finer clothes and a smile for her, and offered her a rose, to press in the pages of the book, which was in fact a book of botany. And every time he came to call upon the king he brought her another flower to press amongst it's pages. He spoke to her of books and libraries and told her of places with names she could not pronounce and she, who had always found the love making of men to be cold and beneath her notice, found herself opening to him like a flower in his book.

When he returned and told her that although he was a price that his kingdom was over run by the Turks and he could not keep her in the luxury to which she was used she laughed in his face and told him that she was only a merchant's daughter whom the dowager kept at court so that the men did not travel so far and further delay the politics of the land. She told him that she had no heart for those men, those shining courtiers who brought her gifts and truly with the amount of fripperies and shining gewgaws that they had brought her that she could possibly fund the revolution to free his kingdom and he laughed with her and proposed that they marry there and then.

With her heart full of love and her beauty transcendent - she agreed, and within the week she was the princess of a lost kingdom, and had access to a library in the only castle remaining to her handsome prince, whom she loved completely.

There were a heady few weeks spent in each other's presence, days of love and luxury, and he never lied to her, or kept part of himself secret, he showed her the pamphlets that they printed of his exploits at the front, and how some of them were lies, but some of them were truth, for a lie had more power when it was couched in honesty. She smiled then and kissed his fingers and said there were truths in war that could make even the hardest heart quail and he loved her then, with all of his being for she was beautiful and she was wise and she was his. It did not matter that the enemy called him a beast because he was her's and she was his.

They did not know how when they slept he would splay his hand against her ribcage with his thumb between her breasts reassuring himself with the beat of her heart, or how he would find flowers for her to press between the pages of the book that he had given her, and if in the middle of the night she had dreams of his horrors she spoke of them to no one.

But at night, in his arms when she slept, she dreamt of fire.

When he left to return to his army he gave the palace and the run of it, he gave her his court that she could speak in his absence but warned that they expected nothing of her for she was beautiful and she would have to be hard to make them listen, and she nodded and kissed his eyelids and told him that she could be anything he wanted her to be because she was beautiful and she was clever and she was his.

She bore him a son which he named for his traitorous brother for although he loved completely others could not be trusted and she saw nothing but love in his eyes when he looked at the child and she loved him completely but she was as fierce as he, and her beauty grew, and when she ruled his court she ruled it with an iron fist for one could not be ruthless at the front and soft handed at home, and the war went on.

When her belly quickened and swelled with a second child she sent him such words of love and he sent her a midwife who loved to read as much as she and confided in her and when her sickness came she drank the tea that was made, but it was only later that she recognised how the dried herbs masked with the taste of ginger were feverfew and tansy and pennyroyal and the child was born dead. Perhaps something died in her that day, with the babe, for she took the midwife into the square and punished her in the way that the pamphlets said that her husband did on the front, and made it clear that she would tolerate no traitors, that those who defied her would meet a similar purpose, even if it broke her heart to do so, for she was beautiful and she was clever and she was his.

But at night, sobbing into her pillows and furs, she dreamt of fire.

When the pamphlets came telling of the atrocities she committed in her husband's name, although she wept inside, she laughed and told them she would print horrors of her own, and she did, terrible things that saw peasants dip into doorways out of her way. For she was ruthless and beautiful and his. For they did not how softly he lay his head upon of her shoulder, or how deft his thumbs upon her feet, or how he always brought her flowers for the book he had given her that day in the palace. And she was his queen and she was beautiful and fierce and ruthless and his.

Her third child was a second son, but did not fill the ache in her heart left by her daughter and when he suggested they move to a second palace, harder to assail and as rough in it's edges as she felt she agreed and brought with her tales of his atrocity and her cruelty, but it did not matter when his smile was so soft and her sons were so bright.

Yet at night, alone in their marriage bed, she dreamt of fire.

She stood at the window of her tower room and watched the river flow beneath and she was happy, she was, for she was loved and she was beautiful and clever and his.

And if at night, with servants sleeping at her door to block the draft she would run her fingers over the pages of the book that lingered between them it was because she was lonely and missed him, not that she doubted his faith in her, and like her faith, her beauty never wavered.

And when he came she blazed for she loved him completely because he was clever and brilliant and ruthless and her's.

Yet at night, alone in their marriage bed, she dreamt of fire.

She dreamt of him burning, his handsome face twisted and blackened like a piece of overcooked pork, the crackling in wide white crevasses and woke sobbing. She dreamt of him drowning, held under ice and his eyes open and dead. She dreamt of him dead in a hundred ways and she dreamt of him as a boy quiet and shy without the hardness the war had given him with eyes like asters and she woke sobbing. For she was beautiful and brave and his.

So when the armies came her heart was set, she did not see how the fortress was too fierce to be easily taken, she merely heard the words of the soldiers that her husband must be dead if he did not come to save her. She heard the soldiers beneath her window laugh and tell of what they did to witches. And at night, with her sons tucked up in her bed, she dreamt of fire.

When morning came she brushed out her hair which still was the colour of old gold, and rubbed silk on her skin until it was as fresh as winter cream. She bathed in oils and wore her finest gown, and with the surety of love and knowing he was dead she took the book he had given her, with the pressed flowers, and went to her window, before she fell to the river below. For she was beautiful, and she was brave and she was his.

She fell rather than letting them take her, to use her against him, and she fell with the dreams of fire thick about her, for she was beautiful and she was brave and she would always be his.

And when word of her sacrifice reached him, he bathed the world in blood and became the beast that they called him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to add a note here because I was warned by a beta that this chapter is a bit oblique, so I'm going to clarify  
> the fairy tales Stiles tells ARE important, for two reasons  
> 1\. they each represent at least one, sometimes two, members of the pack and carry things to their inevitable conclusions  
> 2\. they each reveal details of that/those pack members which might not be at first apparent and whilst Stiles shouldn't by rights know. For example Beauty's nightmares eerily echo Lydia's, the Bzou is warned of the witch's intentions and chooses to listen to her over the voices of the forest.  
> I won't reveal too much of the stories, but there is often several intended layers to each, things which change or are revealed in new light when compared to what we as viewers know of the characters. But if you skip them, that's good too, because although they are important, they won't spoil the story, or anything, they are a hint of the magic in him. So yeah, also because of reasons this story is almost historically accurate, and bonus points to any who recognises it.


	13. Chapter 13

Dick came down from his shower looking infinitely better, like he had washed away an entire layer of mucus, wearing his uncle's sweats and a Beacon Hill's Sheriff Department Fun Run tee, before he flopped down on the sofa and held his hand out for a drink, "tea would be lovely, thanks." He said.

Stiles grunted as he levered himself out of his chair, "what did your last slave die of?" He asked, muttering how it was not like he didn't know where the kettle was.

"Exhaustion." Dick called into the kitchen.

"Alfred spoils you." Stiles called back, as there was a rap at the back door, and Stiles continued talking as he opened it "seriously, I'm going to teach him to tell you to go fuck yourself, oh hi, Erica." 

Erica pushed past him, "I brought chips," she said gesturing with her head to Boyd who was behind her, carrying several shopping bags. "And soda."

"Guys, you didn't have to," Stiles said as Boyd put the bags on the counter, with such ease that it would have made someone suspicious how strong he was. "But thanks."

"So," Erica said looking around, "this is where you live." Erica was not dressed for movie night, Erica was dressed like a femme fatale in a teen supernatural romance vampire, like a sort of sluttier end-of-the-movie Sandra Dee. Her hair was perfect, her makeup elaborately subtle and her pants looked painted on. She was also wearing a pair of leopard print stilettos that were just slutty.

"You're looking nice." Stiles said and he was never sure if it was sarcastic or not because Erica did look fabulous in that whole black widow bite your head off and eat your corpse kind of way that she made work for her. Since her transformation the boys went from ignoring her to terrified of her. She preferred it, and Boyd adored her. Boyd however was wearing jeans and a tee, he had even eschewed the traditional werewolf leather. 

"Nice?" she sneered, "I look stunning." She corrected and walked into the den where Dick was sitting on the couch, curled up in his blanket. "Stiles, I didn't know you had a brother."

"That's because I don't," Stiles called out from the kitchen, still making the tea, "I have a cousin, Dick, Erica, Erica, Dick, he's getting over the flu, and he's a bit of a letch, don't get too close, and thats's Boyd, he's so laid back usually that bean bags envy him."

"I'm sure I can look after myself," she purred sitting down on the couch next to Dick.

Stiles rolled his eyes and went back to making Dick his tea. When he went back into the den Isaac was just letting himself and Scott in, they had six pizza boxes between them. "I picked up pizza," Isaac said putting them down on the coffee table in the den as Stiles handed Dick his lemon and ginger tea, which smelt slightly better than death and was almost half honey. 

"Derek gave you the money, didn't he?" He squinted at the stacked bottles of soda on the counter and the mountain of chips beside them.

"Peter." Scott said, "he said if you're going to look after the pack you might need help."

"I'm not your pack mom," Stiles said exasperated, flopping down on one of the beanbags he had dragged into the den for just that purpose. "and he," he gestured with his head to Dick, "can afford pizza and chips and soda for you lot."

"True," Dick snuffled just before he, loudly, blew his nose, "but we didn't go to the store." He grinned at Boyd, "say thank you, Peter, little heart, and eat his chips." He turned to Erica who was beside him on the couch. "I hate to say it, you're a lovely girl, but those shoes." He then pulled out his phone and started showing her things.

"Ignore him," Stiles sighed, "he'd flirt with the wallpaper if you left them alone long enough." 

Erica was willing to take that as a challenge as Isaac opened the pizzas individually, where possible, on the coffee table, it meant some overlap, but there were six pizzas after all. He took a slice of his own preferred one which had both pineapple and anchovies, ensuring no one else would eat it, and Stiles kind of suspected that that was the point, that for so long Isaac fought for the things he wanted as opposed to what his dad wanted him to have that now he could he was going a little crazy, because pineapple and anchovies together were just wrong, it might also have had barbeque sauce instead of tomato. Even freedom choices had to end somewhere.

Maybe it was a werewolf thing, he thought to himself as Isaac took a bite and seemed delighted by the flavour, like dogs eating old socks or their shit or something. He just snagged himself a slice of the four cheese and sunk a bit further into his bright red bean bag.

"So," Scott said brightly, "what are we watching?"

"Lost Boys, followed by Lost Boys 2, because every great film deserves a bad sequel," Stiles grunted around a mouthful of pizza, "followed by Ginger Snaps 3 because apparently there is a guy in it who is the image of Allison's dad and he gets horribly murdered by a werewolf." Judging by the looks around the room it might have been better to start with that movie and then watch the two vampire ones, it was always good to see a werewolf hunter go down - on film at any rate, "but we're just waiting on Lyds," he swallowed the lump of dough in his mouth, "because after what happened last time without our new all shining full disclosure policy everyone is invited."

"Then where's Allison?" Scott asked.

"Let me rephrase that," Stiles said darkly, "everyone but her is invited."

"I vetoed her," Isaac said, "she was a bitch to Stiles at Karaoke, therefore she's not coming in."

"but," Scott started.

"You're not dating her," Erica said, taking Dick's phone and tilting the screen to better see whatever he was showing her. "So we don't have to put up with her." She held out her other hand to Boyd and waved a little at the pizza box. Boyd took a slice of the vegetably medley, the one pizza no one liked but always seemed to get ordered regardless, and put it in her hand, and to credit the trust between them Erica didn't even look before she took a bite. She made a gesture with her head at Dick as if to ask if Dick knew to Stiles who nodded. "These are cute," she said without missing a beat about whatever was on the screen.

"Ultrafast healing or not going over on your ankle running in high heels hurts, and then the heels break off," Dick suspiciously sounded like he knew what he was talking about, "so boots like this are reinforced to prevent the heels breaking and support the ankle, if you look here," he did something with his phone, "that's Black Canary, she dresses like you, but look at her boots, practical and sexy."

And like that the subject was closed as Scott pouted for a moment, but didn't really dare interrupt Erica about shoes.

Satan could show up and threaten the end of the world but would wait until Erica had stopped talking about shoes. It was also a tactic Derek was not above using with Scott relentlessly because Erica only had to start talking about heels and vamps and Scott went white. In many ways their new full disclosure agreement worked out in Erica's favour because it meant Lydia would be part of the pack and she'd finally have someone to talk to, even if Lydia had openly stated that if Erica was going to put it all on display like that she shouldn't be surprised at the quality of people offering to sample the merchandise. It was a reasonably polite way of saying if you dressed like a whore don't be surprised when people treat you like one. Which was a massive improvement on what Allison had said which was if you dress like a whore you probably are one.

As if on cue the door knocked and Isaac, still with a mouthful of his Hawaiian surprise, the surprise being it was vile, pizza went to open it to let Lydia in. Lydia walked like a queen amongst her followers, this was something of a lessening of her usual hauteur because normally she walked like a goddess amongst her worshippers and those who did not bow down immediately and worship her deserved every smiting they got. That she managed to do this in what looked like yoga sweats was a miracle. She did a quick head count, "oh," she said, "where's" Stiles waited for the inevitable mention of Allison, "Danny, you did invite him, right?"

"I don't have his number." Stiles admitted, "but the more the merrier," Scott looked like he was about to say something but then went quiet with a sort of meep noise when everyone else glared at him. "And as you can see he doesn't have to bring anything but his fine self, Peter thinks we're starving to death or something."

She rolled her eyes as she handed Stiles her phone, "do you know he sent me a fruit basket," she said claiming the lay-zee boy recliner as if it was a throne, kicking off her flat pumps and pulling her bare feet up under her, "like that is going to make me forgive him," she flicked out her hair, "and a book, but it was about plants and full of pressed flowers." She made a disparaging noise and almost didn't notice the way Stiles nearly dropped her phone. "He's under M," she said, "I'm sure he has nothing else planned, if nothing else he has the absolute worst test in men, Peter should be scared." She made a little moue with her mouth suggesting she was delighted with her own wit, "so, Dick, how are you?"

"Looking at shoes," he said and gestured with his phone, "Erica is just courting a sprained ankle in these." He stopped for a moment, fished around in the pocket of his sweats and pulled out a rather bedraggled tissue coughed into it loudly and wetly, everyone made a face. "And getting over the flu, but enough about me, how are you? still planning to take over the world?"

If Stiles hadn't been watching her he might not have seen the way that she suppressed a smile at that, "Lexcorp has offered me a full scholarship based on one of my maths proofs. I self published but the" she waved her hand dismissively, "Caltech people proofed it for me, said it was, invigorating, and then I get a letter from Lex Luthor of all people praising me and saying how he likes to culture young talent."

Everyone turned to look at her. It was a big deal and there was a moment of silence before Erica made a low noise in her throat and said "I just bet he does." Which maybe Dick wasn't meant to hear but caused him to choke back a laugh and start another loud round of coughing.

"Met U?" Stiles asked, because everyone knew Lexcorp owned Metropolis University.

Lydia made that dismissive hand gesture again as Stiles finally fired off the text to Danny. "Not all of us have all expenses paid to Princeton," she said, "some of us have to take what we can get."

"No one is dissing Met U, it's just." Boyd said, "if you don't want to go, you shouldn't feel obligated because Lex Luthor is a creeper."

Lydia's face went suddenly fond. "He's in love with my brain." She said, "it's new, I don't think I like it, besides, he's older than my dad, I was looking at Gotham Miskatonic." Stiles perked up at that. Gotham Misk seemed to be getting mentioned a lot lately.

"That's the magic university, isn't it?" Isaac asked, of course, Stiles thought, he hadn't seen Isaac to tell him about Jason Blood's offer. That reminded him, he had to look in the attic to see if there was a second manuscript, but he also knew that if there was he would read it straight away and not wait for the first one to be delivered. "I didn't think they took on undergraduates."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "It's a case by case basis, besides, magic is just science we don't understand yet, now, I just have to prove I know enough that they'll give me access to their archives. Now, Stiles, are you going to give me my phone back?" Stiles blinked and handed it back to her, "and are we going to watch a movie or just talk about universities a whole year before it becomes a problem."

"The werewolf one," Scott said around a mouthful of pizza, "I could do with the laugh."

"Don't you get enough of that?" Dick said leaning forward, tissue still in hand, to snag some of the pizza. He went for the pineapple barbeque anchovy monstrosity to Isaac's bemused expression. It was one that could have been horror or imminent laughter, sometimes with Isaac it was hard to tell. Stiles wondered if he wasn't spending too much time with Peter and if the if you think he might be messing with you he probably is rule should be instituted. 

Isaac picked the film from where it was queued on netflix. "Yeah, but apparently this guy looks just like his ex-girlfriend's dad, and he gets eaten, by a werewolf."

"He might not," Lydia said, "sometimes people survive."

They all looked around and then burst out laughing, except Dick who coughed instead.

It turned out, amidst bickering, discussing who had the better abs, a thing Boyd won by a slim margin, although Erica maintained that actually Peter had the best but he wasn't here to compete, that the soldier in the film really did look like Chris Argent except he was even more of an ass, although Danny politely refused, not wanting to intrude, no matter how many texts Lydia sent him saying he wouldn't be, but it was fun anyway. Even with Dick vetoing all but the zesti in the fridge for Stiles because "believe me, he's hyper enough as it is."

Then during Lost Boys Lydia revealed that she had accidentally met Corey Feldman in an airport which started a round of who has met the most famous person ever and Stiles practically launched himself across the room to shut Dick up which of course just made everyone even more curious about what it was he was hiding, and how embarrassing it would inevitably be.

Of course, just as the Frogg brothers were sneaking Corey Haim, whose character name no one could remember, and he was "that other Corey, you know the one that died of the drug overdose and everyone thought it was going to be Corey Feldman", and that was Boyd's description, into the cave lair of the vampires that Dick blurted it out. "Stiles met Kermit the Frog."

"I hate you." Stiles started battering him with a throw pillow, "I hate you so much right now, it's one of those things we will never speak of, I, I," then he threw himself back down on the beanbag and crossed his arms angrily, pouting.

"Why do I not know this story?" Scott asked. "I thought we shared everything, I thought we were bros." He actually sounded a touch upset.

"Why do I not know this story?" Lydia asked, "I've known you since pre-k."

Dick had this look on his face that promised mischief. "Don't you dare." Stiles growled. 

"I have to get the photo album." Dick said and practically vaulted over the back of the chair. 

"Yeah, well there's pictures of you with a diaper on your head in that too, that book's as embarrassing for me as it is you." Stiles called out after his cousin, "we'll both go down with this ship."

"Kermit, dude!" Boyd said, "That's pretty epic."

"I've met people more famous than Kermit," Stiles protested, "I met Superman once, and Lex Luthor, because he had a thing about my mom, no one was sure if he wanted to marry or murder her, you never know with him, and yes, Lyds, that's a warning, but, every time he brings out the Kermit story."

"Is that Keifer Sutherland?" Scott asked then, completely out of nowhere, "because it kind of looks like him if I squint right?"

"Scott this movie is older than we are." Erica said, patting Scott, who sat at her feet, on the head, "in fact I think this film is old enough that we could be it's babies."

"still awesome though," Isaac agreed, "I want a coat like his. It needs to be winter so I can get a coat like his."

"It can't be Keifer Sutherland," Scott protested, "he's way too cool to rock a mullet, no one can pull off a mullet and that is a severe ape drape."

"Scott," Lydia said in a really patronising voice, "That's Keifer Sutherland's dad, Donald."

Boyd made the snerking noise. "No, seriously guys," Isaac said, "I really like his coat." Because that was the important part of this conversation.

"Well, Donald Sutherland is a much better vampire than that Robert Patterson." Scott said finally, "he doesn't sparkle or anything." 

At that Erica burst out laughing and bent down to give Scott's head an impromptu hug, "this!" she said, "is why I love you, because you may be a idiot, but you're an idiot that fell asleep during Twilight last movie night."

"It's Robert Pattinson," Isaac said in a low whisper beside him.

"No," Scott protested as Dick came back in with the huge leatherbound photo album, "he was in Harry Potter, he was Cedric." And Erica just kissed him on the head at that.

"What did I miss?" Dick asked.

"Scott thinks Donald Sutherland is hot." Lydia said, making grabby hands for the photo album but Dick just gestured that Erica sit at the end of the couch so they could all gather around, puppy piling on the cushions. "Are you going to tell us all about Kermit now?"

"Gather around, children," Dick said waggling his eyebrows and trying badly to repress his grin to look avuncular and not like he was moments away from bursting into laughter.

"I hate you," Stiles said, "and I'm going to drink all the Cherry Zesti in rebellion." It was well known that Cherry Zesti was the one which created the greatest hyper of all sodas, even in people who didn't get hyper drinking soda. It was like that eminem lyric, "I just drank Cherry Zesti dare me to drive". Stiles was always a little surprised they hadn't just pulled it from the market or labelled it a class a drug or something. People did some strange shit on Cherry Zesti.

"no, you won't," Dick said and even the way he said it it wasn't a command but more a stark realisation because let's face it, Stiles thought, it was right. Cherry Zesti tasted like ass.

"Alright, so I won't, but I'll," he stopped, "I'll do something in the kitchen."

And Erica, traitor that she was, just clapped her hands together in wolfish glee, and started chanting, Kermit, and Boyd, of all people, sweet laid back Boyd added, "it's time to play the music," and they all started singing along, "it's time to light the lights." 

"I hate you all." Stiles said bluntly, "truly in ways you cannot understand." And they didn't even know why yet the Kermit story was so embarrassing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Eminem thing, I know it's not Cherry Zesti but I have ADHD and certain sodas make me unbearable, I mean bouncing off the walls like I am on fast forward hyper, and Zesti is a DC thing, they don't drink Coke or Pepsi but instead Zesti so I carried it over. So I continued the joke, I think in AU's little things are different  
> and seriously if cherry soda in the US is anything like cherryade in the UK (a bright red chemical compound the joker would be proud of) I'm sticking to that line.
> 
> And cousins are embarrassing, even when they are awesome  
> so who wants to hear the end of the Kermit story.


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles sat on the bathroom floor with his back against the door and looked at his phone for long minutes before he pushed connect. It rang twice before Derek answered, "Stiles," there was a pause, "what's wrong?"

Stiles sighed, stretching his legs out across the lino and bathmat, "the usual existentialist bullshit, I think." He said, "I don't even know why I called you."

"What did he do?" And Stiles smiled to himself because he knew exactly what the problem was, all one hundred and ninety pounds of him.

"It's stupid, I shouldn't have bothered you." Stiles said staring at his feet.

"It bothered you so it's not stupid."

Stiles didn't think that Derek was even aware of the cleverness of his wordplay but he didn't bring it up. "It's just," he stopped, "he's just being," he paused again, "he's just being Dick." Derek left him a pause. "Everyone was talking about meeting famous people and so Dick just had to tell everyone the story about how I met Kermit the Frog and wet myself."

Derek was quiet for a long moment. "You met Kermit the Frog?" He asked, "that is pretty epic."

"Yeah, I was five, and Bruce made me cry about him and my mom was just diagnosed and so he, he gave all this money to charity so I could go to where they were filming something and meet Kermit, and I was so excited I pissed myself, I'm practically in different pants in every photo." It came out in a resentful blur of words and Stiles hated himself for telling but it hurt that now his friends were going to think of him as the kid who wet himself in front of a muppet.

"So," Derek said slowly and evenly, "you managed to freak out one of the coolest men in America to such an extent that he pretty much bent time and space so you could meet your idol and the only thing you take away from it is that you got over excited and lost control of your bladder?"

"Pretty much." Stiles answered, kicking out his feet.

"And Dick decided to tell everyone including photos."

"Yep," he dragged out the p sound. It was really loud in the small bathroom.

"Featuring the guardian he's on the outs with, the same one who paid a fortune to get you to meet Kermit."

"Yep."

"Did you think that he was doing it because it makes his guardian look like an ass who was freaked out by a kid?"

"You're not supposed to be the grown up." Down the line Derek chuffed a laugh. "Stop making it almost reasonable. He's still showing them photos of me being so excited that I pissed myself."

"How old were you, if your mom was still alive?" He left it open.

"Five." Stiles answered, "I told him I wanted to grow up and marry Kermit and he," Stiles gave a sort of broken laugh sound, "he said I couldn't," he paused again, "because Miss Piggy would never let me."

Derek laughed again, and it was soft and fond and completely unlike Derek who was gruff and mean. "Tuxedo Mask." He said finally, and perhaps a little fondly.

"What?" Stiles had no idea where that had come from. It was like a separate conversation.

"I was madly in love with Tuxedo Mask, not Darien, just Tuxedo Mask, I told my mom I was going to marry him, if I had to become a sailor scout to do it." He waited for Stiles to say something but instead he was just quiet. "Everyone was in love with someone strange when they were five, it's not a big deal, but you got to meet him, Laura," he stopped for a second, "she'd probably still have wet herself if she got to meet him now." There was another lengthy pause, "I might." Stiles laughed then. "Stiles, you got to meet Kermit the Frog, do you know how many people get to say that, and you got to meet him when you were young enough to appreciate that he was real and not a puppet, but, it's a big deal, and it's a good thing. So you embarrassed yourself in front of your idol, we've all done that." He left an opening for Stiles who didn't speak, "this existentialist bullshit is really getting to you, isn't it?"

Stiles sighed into the handset. "Yeah, I think it is."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes," Stiles said breathlessly, then realised what he said, "No, I mean I don't know, I," he frowned at his feet, "I have a house full of guests and I'm having an emotional breakdown in the bathroom because I wet myself in front of Kermit the Frog when I was five."

"Did he mention it?"

"What?"

"Kermit, because if he mentioned it, he's an ass and I'm pretty sure Erica, queen of all crafts, can make him into a pair of gloves after I maul him for you." Stiles genuinely laughed at that and knew that Derek had said it to make him laugh.

"You'd maul Kermit the Frog for me?" Stiles couldn't help the little lump in the back of his throat at the idea of that.

"Oh, yes," Derek told him, "he should worry, it's not easy being green." And Stiles did laugh out loud at that, because how could he not. "Werewolves and frogs are natural enemies you know, nothing is as sweet as the green baize of our oppressors between our fangs."

"Have you been saving up all these words?" Stiles laughed into the phone, "it's like backwards world, you're the one doing all the talking."

"Maybe it's a blue moon." Derek said softly, "you know us wolves, we do strange things for the moon, especially when frogs are involved." He stopped for a moment. "Stiles, do you need me to come over?"

"Yes," Stiles said quietly.

There were noises on the other end of the phone, like maybe someone picking up their keys. "I'm going to hang up because I want to text Isaac and let him know what's happening, and I don't have handsfree in the car. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay." Then the line went dead. Stiles looked at his handset for a moment before he locked the screen and shoved it back in his jeans pocket. He scrubbed at his face although he hadn't been crying, just thought that he might.

Stiles had no sooner opened the door than to get a face full of Isaac, "I," Stiles started about to apologise for hogging the bathroom, although there was one downstairs, when Isaac just wrapped his arms around him.

"I've got this," Isaac said, into Stiles' hair, "you've got a headache, you've gone to lie down, it might be Dick's cold." The lie was already conveniently in place, but it wasn't for Stiles, it was for the rest of them, so that they didn't worry, so that they didn't get offended that he had gotten offended.

"I," Stiles started because the words were gone.

"Pack." Isaac repeated, like it said it all, then when he let go, went into the bathroom and flushed the toilet. Stiles hadn't used it so it was clear it was for werewolf ears. Stiles offered him a smile, and Isaac just shrugged like it was just what you did, and maybe for Isaac it was. "Pack." Isaac told him and hugged him tighter for just a moment. "You're pack."

\---

Derek didn't say anything to where Stiles was curled up on the floor behind his desk chair, wedged between it and the wall. He just sat down beside him, sloughed off his leather jacket, and pulled a worn and clearly beloved paperback from his pocket. He tugged Stiles up against him, so that his head was against his shoulder and opening the book to the start he started, in a low voice, to read.

_"Later, it was said the man came from the north, from Ropers Gate. He came on foot, leading his laden horse by the bridle. It was late afternoon and the ropers', saddlers' and tanners' stalls were already closed, the street empty. It was hot but the man had a black coat thrown over his shoulders. He drew attention to himself._

_He stopped in front of the Old Narakort Inn, stood there for a moment, listened to the hubbub of voices. As usual, at this hour, it was full of people."_

Stiles stopped him. "What's the book?" he asked in a low voice that even to him sounded a little broken.

"It's about a monster hunter," Derek said quietly, resting his chin against the top of Stiles' head, "but to make him better they made him a monster himself, he is neutral." He chose the word carefully, "he's not a good person, or a bad one, he's just, he's just." He left it open. "And really bad ass." Stiles choked a laugh into his shoulder. "It's a good book, just listen."

"The stranger did not enter the Old Narakort. He pulled his horse further down the street to another tavern, a smaller one, called The Fox. Not enjoying the best of reputations, it was almost empty." And Stiles just let him read, let the words wash over him of a monster who killed other monsters because they needed to be killed, not because he wanted to, and who sometimes let them live because people were wrong, and always got the girl, even if he could never keep her.

Later, when Stiles unwound himself from the corner, the monster hunter having saved, and not killed, the truly terrible Striga, which had just been a kid under a curse, Stiles pulled off his chucks. "Stay," he said softly.

"I can't, you know that." Derek told him.

"Just, just till I fall asleep. I'm just a little raw tonight, I don't want to be alone."

"sure," Derek said, "do you want me to read the next chapter?"

Stiles grinned at him, a warm and really natural grin. "Hell, yes, and then I'm going to break into your house to steal that book." Derek grinned for him, it was truly a sight to behold, Derek had a grin like the clouds parting and revealing a brilliant sunny day, it was a shame he didn't show it often. It was actually just a touch goofy which made it more real.

"There's a whole series." Derek said as Stiles pulled his tee over his head to get ready for bed, "a TV series and a movie."

"Why have I not heard of this book?" Stiles said climbing into bed and patting the space beside his head for Derek to sit there.

"Sucks to be you, I guess," Derek said sitting there, he cleared his throat and began, _"'Geralt.'_

_He raised his head, torn from sleep. The sun was already high and forced blinding golden rays through the shutters, penetrating the chamber with tentacles of light. The witcher shaded his eyes with his hand in an unnecessary, instinctive reflex which he had never managed to shake off - all he needed to do, after all, was narrow his pupils into vertical slits."_

Stiles was asleep when Dick popped his head around the door. "How good is werewolf hearing?" Dick was speaking subvocally, which was one hell of a trick, Derek thought, but made sense if he thought about it. "I don't want to wake him."

Derek made a gesture with his eyebrows that suggested that he heard and understood just fine. "We need to talk," Dick said, "not about Sasha, about Scott, tomorrow, three o clock, corner of Fourth and Poplar. I have some information you might want. And Derek," he continued, "I told them he spilled apple juice on his pants, I was always going to." Then he shrugged and backed out of the doorway to continue to the spare room.

\---

There was a diner on the corner of Fourth and Poplar run by an old greek couple who didn't always understand that diner food tended to the bland and fried, because on their menu were things like keftedes and some of the best souvlaki Derek had ever had. No one came to this diner for the burgers, and the coffee was strong enough to run a plane with and thick with sugar no matter how you ordered it.

Dick sat at one of the booths, with a plate of toast and hummus in front of him, a large glass of iced tea and a pile of used tissues. Derek could hear him breathing from here, and the tell tale crackle of mucus when he did so. Dick didn't look up when he came in, he just cleared a bit more of the table for him but waited until Derek had ordered coffee before he said anything. "I heard about your sister," Dick started, "I wanted to say I was sorry, I just thought," he took a breath, "with the clusterfuck that I hear that's been happening here maybe no one said that to you and that's," he stopped again, fussing with the straw in his iced tea, "I know what it's like to lose everyone but one person and the idea of losing him, you make new family, because" he shrugged, "but I wanted to say sorry, because it needs to be said."

Derek didn't say anything. He just waited.

"I have friends in odd professions." Dick was cagy about the way he worded it. "And I went to Metropolis where one of them lives, she runs a magic store, you might have heard of her." Derek didn't say anything, he kept his face poker bland. "i didn't go to Metropolis to see her, but I was there and I wanted to know what Sasha was getting into so I asked her for info, she went to the Van Helsings for it, I don't know how accurate it is, but," he stopped, then pulled out his phone, a model Derek had never even seen before, and slid it across the table. "They had a lot of information about Omegas and well, it would break Sasha's heart if anything happened to Scott."

"You care a lot about him." Derek was carefully choosing his words.

"In many ways he's the only real family I've got, I love Bruce and Alfred, and even to an extent Jay, but he's my Little Heart and I won't let him come to harm, if I thought you were a threat, if he thought you were a threat, I'd talk his dad into sending him to Kansas, believe me, with his grades we could get him into Princeton now, and we'd do it, to protect him." Dick moved his food around on his plate. "He trusts you, so I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, but after what I read last night, after what I saw with Scott and the rest of the pack, I'm sticking my nose in, although I wasn't going to."

Derek remained quiet, he took a sip of the coffee which was like sweet tar on his tongue. "I know about Omegas, and I also know that the government doesn't class them like they do vampires, so it's not kill on sight, they class them," Dick paused, "they class them as metas and the only times they cross them is as omegas, as far as I can tell they're lucky when a hunter gets them, what do you know about Belle Reve."

"It's a prison." Derek said calmly, "for metas."

"It's sponsored by Lexcorp in exchange for scientific data, it's a body farm with living corpses. I'm thinking Scott doesn't know what it means to reject pack the way that he is, and I think you're coddling him because he's a kid." Derek just shrugged, "and it's a luxury I don't think you can afford because it would fuck Sasha up if something like that happened to Scott and he'd end up in Arkham or Blackgate for trying to bust him out and I don't want that, those places I've been in." He pushed aside the food, clearly done eating. "As I understand it, and my information might be wrong, that being pack allows the wolf enough freedom that the human side can dominate, and when the wolf is denied that's when it all goes wrong, that the wolf goes feral." Derek nodded. "So Scott needs a slap upside the head, he does realise another pack will probably never take him in."

"You're awfully invested," Derek said, "to risk telling an alpha that he is treating his pack wrong." There was a flash of eyes at that.

"We have the same goal." Dick told him bluntly. "You have no obligation to Scott, you didn't bite him, you could turn him out and no one would look at you for it, but then there's Sasha, I think you have an obligation to him, I don't know what it is, and I think you like him, and so there comes Scott."

"He saved my life," Derek answered, "more than once, and he's pack."

Dick laughed, a sharp fractured sound. "Sounds about right, the thing is Derek, we weren't kids at sixteen, we were already at war, and unfortunately they are too now, whether we like it or not, and believe me it's not, he's in Beacon Hills to keep him out of all of the Gotham bullshit. So, we need to stop treating them like kids and start letting them make their own decisions with the information we have, you trust Isaac, but not Scott who needs to be shown why and then smacked around the back of his head." He was playing with his straw in a gesture that was eerily like Stiles, Derek noticed. "I have a friend, Kory, she's from this culture that's completely different and if I learned one thing from her, which includes don't fuck with a girl in a temper and having boobs doesn't mean she can't kick your ass, it's you don't have to defeat them, you just have to get up and fight, and when they knock you down, you get up again, and again, and again. You only lose when you let them win."

He took one of the tissues, opening it up and then blew his nose, "Scott's never going to just fall in line, he's never going to trust you unless you give him reason to, and maybe that means you have to tell him the truth before he ends up collared on a dissection table whilst they find out just how much he can heal. Think about it, Alpha, if I gave him this information, or even snuck it through Sasha, Scott would trust you even less. Give him the choice, but show him just how shitty it really is." His grin then was a knife edge, reminiscent of Chris Argent's, Derek noticed. "You can't treat them like kids anymore, or even just soldiers, but warriors, you earn loyalty, Derek, you can't just bark at them, trust me, I know what it's like and all it does is drive a wedge between you. You have your suspicions about my secrets, but here's the thing, I've legitimately been out of the country for a year but the bird still flies. That's what it means not to be trusted, to just be a good soldier." He gathered his used tissues and put them on his plate for easier disposal.  
  
"I'm going back to Gotham at the end of the week, if you want to talk, just talk, about anything, I'm here, take the phone, I have another." Then throwing some bills down on the table from his wallet he stood up and left Derek to his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book that Derek reads from is "The Last Wish" by Andrzej Sapkowski from the Witcher Series  
> and is awesome, and Derek would totally fanboy Geralt because he doesn't just put monsters down (although he does that too) he sometimes saves them.  
> The Last Wish is also a collection of corrupted fairy tales. It's a stand alone book of short stories bound together by an outside narrative.  
> Although there are issues with the translations, both "THe Last Wish" and "The blood of elves" are available in English. There IS a TV series and a movie (but they're in Polish) and two very kick ass video games which are set after the series and were written by the author.  
> (Geralt also wears a "witcher medallion" which is a silver wolf's head which vibrates when it's near danger)


	15. Chapter 15

Stiles got out of the jeep with the ongoing sense he was being watched, all the little hairs that he normally had buzzed off at the back of his neck were standing upright, and even though it was summer and the street was bright, he was aware that he was outside Deaton's vetinary practise at eight o'clock at night and there was no one about. His dad didn't consider emptying litter trays and scrubbing out cages for the vet as something he'd want to do voluntarily so it was fine for him to help out Scott whilst grounded, because cat shit was worse than anything he could come up with, which included being locked in with Dick who was feeling much much better and was only one hair short of hyper. So when Deaton had texted him, and truth be told Stiles had expected some kind of smoke signal or owl post or something, after wondering when Deaton got his number - it was clear that he'd got it from Scott- Stiles had pretty much leapt at the opportunity. Dick and Dayquil was not a good combination.

The air was eerie quiet. There was a heavy silence in the air and Stiles couldn't quite get the impression that he was being followed. He scanned his eyes through the treeline looking for the bright shining eyes of the dead things he kept accidentally summoning, when a hand laid itself on his shoulder.

He jumped clear in the air, at the same time the man, one who Stiles had never seen before, jumped back patting at his hair which was on fire.

Then Deaton was there. "How dare you?" He said, holding a large wooden staff like a quarter staff, "approach my apprentice without permission."

"My hair is on fire!" the wolf, and it was clearly a wolf, half shifted with bright red eyes. "My hair is on fire!"

"You approach a half trained mystic and you complain when he attacks you."

"I didn't mean to." Stiles managed.

Deaton silenced him with his hand. 

Another man, in a crisp grey suit with matching tie, looking very inch Harvey Spector in his hand made Italian shoes, stepped forward from behind the cars. "I apologise for my wolf." He said in a voice like molasses and broken glass. "He did not mean to startle you, but this does not include you, mystic."

"You approach my apprentice?!" Deaton said.

"I could kill you with a word." And there were other sets of red eyes in the darkness amongst the trees.

"My hair is on fire." The first wolf said, still running around in circles and batting uselessly at his scalp.

"Ennis, to me." The wolf in the suit growled, "and for god's sake, stop drop and roll, you were warned that the boy was a mystic."

"If you kill me every one of the Sentinels will hunt you down, you know this, Deucalion." Deaton looked very much like he was in an ass-whooping mood and that he might take down every one of the dark shadows in the trees. Then there was a roar, a sort of yelping squeal and several furry creatures came and started to circle Stiles' feet, there was two foxes, a racoon and several rats, all of which were dead.

"I wished to speak to the boy, Ennis overstepped the mark and his hair is more than punishment enough for that. I shall withdraw, my argument is not with you, Lightkeeper, as I said, I merely wished to speak, to ask questions of him, I shall bide my time."

"Stiles, go inside." Deaton said, "the door is unlocked, and the salt is on the shelf." He was putting himself between Stiles and the wolves. "You know what to do."

"My fight is not with you, Lightkeeper." Deucalion said as his wolf, the one whose head was currently on fire, was rolling around on the carpark as another one, a young boy certainly no older than Stiles himself, was trying to beat him to death with his jacket. Stiles took a deep breath and closed his fist, the fire extinguished on it's own. 

The wolf, Ennis, stood up. "He set fire to my hair."

Deucalion slapped him hard, "You scared an untrained mystic, you're lucky it's all he did." 

"Stiles, get inside now!"

Stiles went and locked the door behind him, his undead coterie still swirling around his feet, before setting themselves up between himself and the door. He pulled out his phone and tried to call Derek, but couldn't get an answer, so instead he took a deep breath and called Peter.

\---

Stiles was sitting with a box he had labelled biohazard, he had lured the dead animals into it before exorcising them, drinking tea and trying to will his hands not to shake. Whatever was going on outside he was glad that Deaton had been so insistent that he go inside because really he'd had his fill of hero shit for the time being. He wanted his dad but if he called his dad, even though it was his night off, it meant his dad getting between what was clearly the Alpha pack, and god knows why they wanted him, and a pissed off Lightkeeper who was more than prepared to call on heavy hitters to protect Stiles.

There was a cat mewling in it's cage in the backroom and the tea had been labelled special calming blend and it tasted like lemon drops but smelt like lavender, and Stiles was almost sure he was about to be sick. He couldn't get the smell of burning hair out of his nostrils, no matter how hard he blew his nose. His hands were shaking. He hadn't meant to do it, it had just scared him.

"Stiles!" Peter called out, he had clearly come in through the back, and he had lost his coat somewhere so he must have transformed to run here when Stiles called, "Stiles!"

Stiles didn't want to be thought of as a child, he didn't want to react like a child, he was an adult dammit, he was hardcore, he'd driven off an alpha on his own, but as soon as he saw Peter he didn't know what came over him and he threw his tea cup aside, literally threw and it fell on the floor and smashed, and wrapped his arms about his waist and just clung on. "Shush," Peter said completely uncomfortable with the show of very uncharacteristic affection, as Stiles downright sobbed into his shirt. Peter had no idea what to do with his hands and Stiles took a moment or two to stop, wiping at his face and taking a deep breath to centre himself. "What happened?"

"I," Stiles said, and then wiped his nose with his sleeve, much to Peter's horror, even as the wolf looked at the tear stains on the front of his henley. "There was a wolf, he, I," he sniffed, sucking up the snot in a sound loud and disgustingly wet even without super hearing. "I set him on fire, it was," he licked his lips nervously, "it was like Dexter's laboratory. I wanted to laugh and Deaton's out there and..."

Peter took him by the shoulders. "Stiles, I need you to tell me what happened?"

"I'm so fucking useless," Stiles managed through sobs, "there was a wolf, it came after me, the others, they called him Ennis, he scared me, my magic lashed out, and his hair caught fire and Deaton came out to see what's wrong and now he's out there and the wolves are there and I didn't know what to do and I could just stand there and..."

Peter crouched down in front of him. "you are not useless." He said firmly. "You don't have control yet, that doesn't make you useless, your magic protected you and Deaton is protecting you, they're not going to go after Deaton he has some heay hitters behind him that would make God quake in his boots, you've done amazing things, there is nothing wrong with breaking down when they're gone, it's practically the Hale family mantra, cope now deal later." Peter looked strangely honest and concerned. His mouth was turned down and his hair wasn't as perfect as usual, in fact it looked like he had just stepped out of the shower and was now drying fluffy.

"I thought it was brood now stalk later." Stiles looked around the room, trying to look anywhere but at Peter because he was sure that he had made a complete ass out of himself.

"No, that's our motto, but really we chant the other one more. Stiles, it's okay to let it all out in meaningful ways, and if that means ruining my shirt then ruin my shirt, it's better that than you bottling it all up and setting fire to the town because you can't control your magic yet. Magic can make your emotions all haywire, and you're a teenager, your body is playing the hormone lottery, so it's inevitable that every now and again they're going to get the better of you, that's all that this is. Now, let's go see if Deaton needs our help or he's still out in the carpark looking menacing."

"Where's the rest of the pack?"

"We were training," Peter said as he unlocked the main door, "they came too." They were stood behind Deaton, looming shadows half transformed suggesting whatever Deaton was he was theirs. He almost looked bad ass, but Peter made sure to put himself between Stiles and what was happening in the car park, which was, in fact, a whole heap of nothing. They were stood at one side of the car park and Deucalion and his wolves stood on the other.

Neither side was saying anything, but Peter still was still full on soccer mom-ing him with his arm across Stiles' chest.

An old woman, leaning heavily on a very gnarled walking stick, walked straight unto the carpark as if completely unaware of the stand off on either side. She wore a scarlet tiered skirt, a fitted black blouse and a black shawl with tassels that shimmied when she walked. She had a long white braid and a face as gnarled as her cane. She looked at both sides and then shook her head. "Sit!" She said and as one every one of the wolves fell to their asses like they had been pushed. Deaton backed off from the woman as Stiles pushed Peter's arm, which was clutching the pocket of his hoodie and called out. "Oma!"

"Sasha," The old woman said, "which of these cubs are yours?"

Stiles wanted to say something but the words were gone, it wasn't often that it happened, and even rarer that his doddering old Oma, a woman in her nineties, made two packs of werewolves sit the fuck down with a single word.

"Madame Dorka," Peter said, with his eyes down, "this pack." He gestured with his hands.

"Long time no see, Peter Puppy." She said and then flicked her eyes, like a whip strike, across the car park. "And Deucalion, why am I unsurprised?" She stepped across the park. "Leave now!" There was a command in her voice and she had a thick rich accent.

"Dude," Erica muttered, "your Oma is full on metal."

Stiles couldn't quite argue with her, sometimes he forgot that other people didn't see the old lady who lifted him unto her knee and snuck him lollipops. "You can't command me, witch." Deucalion said, "it has not been so long, Dorota, that I forgot you and what you are capable of."

"Nor I you, Deucalion, does your latest pack know their purpose?"

Deucalion growled with his fangs, looking completely out of sync with his perfectly styled suit, his claws clenching into fists and relaxing. "You threaten me?" He asked.

"Do I need too?" She said, and thumped her staff on the ground, like fucking Gandalf Stiles thought, "Run," Deucalion and the wolves fled. She turned and looked across at Stiles, "puppies," she said under her breath, "Sasha, would it kill you to give your Oma a hug?" And Stiles, with his face splitting in the warmest of grins ran across the carpark and wrapped himself around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, sorry about that, but this was such a brilliant place to leave it.


	16. Chapter 16

  
The flight to Gotham was torturous and long. Both Dick and Stiles, neither given to silence for any period of time, were quiet, Dick swirling a glass of scotch, 20 year old single malt, Mr Grayson, the stewardess informed him, without drinking it, and Stiles picking at the cuticles of his fingers or drumming them on the arm of the chair. He didn't even comment on how they were using the WayneTech private jet or how everyone should fly this way. He just hugged his dad and his Oma at the airstrip, because the jet had flown into a private one nearer Beacon Hills than the main airport at San Francisco, and told him to watch his diet, and then, climbed on the plane.

The private jet was the height of luxury, deep leather arm chairs, a private chef, a well stocked liquor cabinet that Stiles had been told he could help himself to, because Bruce understood that sometimes you needed a drink even if you were underage and with the news that they had got Dick understood that too.

They had been sat having dinner with Oma, who had immediately decided she adored Isaac because of his curls, calling him Puppy, although she called all the werewolves that, and making him pierogies from scratch like it wasn't a fuss or a bother, Stiles knew from past experience it was both. She had waved off his dad's repeated assurances that he could make up a bed for Dick and Stiles in the basement and she could stay in the guest bedroom because Isaac didn't go into the basement, and that was said not so much like a threat but like a banked fire of rage that someone could do that. And perhaps that was when her coffee, thick and black like tar and ashes, had slurped on it's own over the side of the cup.

They had been talking and laughing and she had adopted Isaac as if he was one of her own, calling him Asia, which came out Asha because of her thick accent, and babying him as if he had always been part of her family, because Oma was fierce and fearless until she wasn't, and Stiles wasn't going to argue with anything that got him her cheese and potato pierogies because they were awesome. Isaac had actually whined the first time he'd put one in his mouth because nothing in this world was as good as Oma's pierogies. His dad had even said if they gave him a heart attack he'd die happy.

Oma might have been bad ass but she was still the little woman who took over the kitchen with a rod of iron and made enough food to feed five werewolf packs out of little more than what they had in the fridge. She gave them all kisses on the forehead and had a filthy laugh and competent hands.

They had been eating when the call came.

Dick had answered his cell, going very quiet and his face crumbling like limestone. "I have to go back to Gotham." He said quietly, "There's been an accident. It's Jay." He was shaking, and Dick never reacted to anything.

"What happened?" the sheriff asked as Oma got out of her seat with a groan and moved to the stairs, telling him she'd pack for him now and he was to do what he needed to because that was taken care of. And Stiles was going too, that wasn't even a question.

"Alfred didn't really know, there was a plant tour, some kind of explosion. I need to go home." He was fumble fingered suddenly, the phone falling from his hands.

"You sit there, son," the sheriff said, taking control and moving Dick to the couch. "Is Alfred sending the jet?" and Dick nodded numbly "we'll take care of getting you home, Stiles is going to go with you, you just do what you need to do." Because that's what family was for.

Stiles had simply sent off a text to Derek, and another to Scott, saying he had a family emergency and he needed to get to Gotham yesterday, but he'd let them know when he was coming back. They weren't to worry, he was with Dick, and he hadn't been abducted, but he needed to go to Gotham because it was Jay and Jay was his friend, even if all they did was their standing appointment for Halo, or Borderlands, or whatever game they were playing that week which had always been them "Haloing", because those meetings had become a verb somewhere along the line. And Isaac, he just sat next to Dick on the couch, pressed up against him, clearly wanting to hug him but not knowing how to start it.

So they were on one of the WayneTech private jets, to be picked up by helicopter from Gotham International to take them to the manor, and they might get there before Bruce who was coming back from wherever it was in Eastern Europe that he was, and Dick sat on the wide leather armchair that passed as airplane seats in Bruce Wayne's world and swirled a twenty year old single malt in the glass like it might have answers for him.

The news met them at the airport as they were shuffled from the jet to the helicopter because there was to be no expense spared in getting them to the manor, but Lucius Fox, a tall black man who Stiles thought he should be scared of but never had been because he was a giant cuddly teddy bear even if he was one of the keenest business men in America, met them. "Richard," he said and put his hand on Dick's shoulder. "Jason didn't make it." And Dick made a sort of whuffing noise like the air had been thumped out of him, and Stiles just stepped between Dick and Lucius and wrapped his arms about him. Because that's what family was for.

When they got to the manor Alfred wasn't at the door, he was on his knees by the main staircase with a bucket and a scrub brush, grinding the brush back and forth over the marble. Dick made a broken sound when he saw him, and Alfred turned, getting to his feet, and drying his hands on his apron. "Master Dick, Master Stiles, it is so nice to see you." And Dick didn't seem to know what to do so Stiles hugged Alfred for him. Because that's what family was for.

\---

Stiles hated Gotham. Everything he knew about big cities he had learned from Gotham and that mostly involved avoiding them at all costs. He knew Gotham had a bad reputation for a reason, it was a bad place, but if one large city was like that then the chances were the others were too - they were just better at hiding it. Bruce had once called Gotham the kind of girl who fucked you, fucked you over and then forgot your name in the morning, and he had said it sort of wistfully. Dick had said she was the kind of girl that looked like easy prey until she smashed your head in and stole your wallet. Alfred had said that sometimes cities were hard. All of these things were true, and Stiles hated that any place could be like this and still have that faint feeling of home. His Gotham family loved the city with her gothic architecture and wet streets, because it almost always seemed to be raining there. They loved her raised train lines - the ground underneath was riddled with caves and completely unsuitable for a subway, and her over passes and abandoned lots. They also fought tooth and claw to save her, but Gotham wasn't the kind of girl who wanted saving.

If some cities were fairy tale princesses Gotham was Maleficent with a flick knife.

He had been told, one of the few times he had seen Dick who was out all night, not back till morning because that was his way of grieving, to take any of the cars, but as tempting as some of them had been Stiles hadn't felt right taking any of the sports cars, avoiding the battered purple thing that had been Jason's project, one he talked about between headshots, and taken a simple, well by Bruce Wayne standards, Lexus that was Alfred's for visiting the super market.

Bruce wouldn't get out of bed, he wasn't eating, only drinking tea because Stiles had implied if he didn't take something Alfred would be even more upset. Dick was partying like it was 1999 and he had a quota to fill, and coming back with bruises and scuffed knuckles because he was angry and picking fights at the clubs. Alfred was cleaning.

Stiles understood all three reactions perfectly well. Alfred was working because if he stopped then it would become real, Dick was trying to lose himself and Bruce was so tired and weary that even going to the toilet was an almost impossible feat. People grieved in different ways and Stiles just plugged the gap. He was the one who made sure that there were sandwiches in the fridge for when they inevitably got hungry. He was the one who made sure that there was coffee in the pot. That Alfred stopped long enough to drink a cup of tea even if they said nothing. He was the one who carried the tray up to Bruce's room. Beause someone had to.

He had phoned Jason Blood to let him know that he was in Gotham so if the book was ready he could just come and pick it up and save himself the postage, so Blood had responded with actually great directions on how to get to his store from the mansion.

Gotham Antiquarian books was on a sort of high street. It was far away from the mega malls and shopping districts on this old street in the Diamond Quarter, wedged between a butchers and what appeared to be a thrift store. It had a simple black sign with gold lettering and a wooden placard swinging outside it's glass door. The door itself was wooden at the bottom and had several glass panels, and the windows looked old. It was a charming old book store. Stiles parked around back, where Blood had told him he had customer parking, making sure to lock and check the doors when he was done, this was Gotham after all, before walking around to the front and pushing the door open. It had a small bell on a spring that jingled happily when he went in.

The shop smelled of old books and reminded him of the one in Captain America which hid the entrance to the secret lab, but there was a wonderful smell of old books, vanillin and incense and sunlight disturbed dust. There was a wooden floor and waist high book cases everywhere. Jason Blood himself sat in an old leather armchair behind a glass counter displaying what appeared to be very old books indeed, the sort that in a store that specialised in the rare and obscure, were too valuable for simple display. Blood himself was a red haired man with a single white streak above his right eye in a shirt, black tie and and silver pinstriped vest, sleeves rolled up to show the alchemical tattoos on his forearms, and a face that looked hardened by life but not as old as Stiles had thought him from Dick's vague descriptions. He was probably no older, in truth, than Stiles' own dad. He also had a small Bose stereo behind him and was playing, Stiles did a double take, he was playing the Mumford and Son's live CD.

When he saw him Blood stood up, and his pants, which matched the vest, were perfectly pressed, but there was something about him, something more than just the tattoos that gave him an aura of menace, because a man who was dressed like something out of Suits should not give him a larger threat of bloody violence than Derek when he was wolfed out and pissed off. Jason Blood looked like the sort of man who knew exactly how to dispose of a body, and the best way to keep the secret whilst he was at it. Ewan McGregor, Stiles thought to himself, a really violent and angry Ewan McGregor, that was who he reminded Stiles of.

"You must be Stiles," Blood offered out his hand to shake, "And I'm Jason Blood, but everyone just calls me Blood." He had a polite British accent, the sort of one people didn't actually have outside of Star Wars movies, and a voice like dulce de leche and whiskey. Apart from the air of violence and the lingering hint of smoke in his aftershave he was the sort of person that young virgins sacrificed themselves on willingly, with panty throwing.

"Dude," Stiles said looking around the shop, "this is where paperbacks go when they die, it's like book heaven. I have a copy of _The Golden Bough_ that I picked up in a yard sale which is just days away from showing up here. It's..." his mouth was slightly open and his eyes wide in delight, "how do you get anything done?"

"I glower at customers mostly." Blood said and came out from behind the counter, "I buy books but I do hate to see them leave." He moved to a shelf, " _The Golden Bough_ , hmm, here," he made a tiny gesture with his hand, "all twelve volumes, leather bound, uncut pages. I have a copy of the single volume version somewhere, but it's a good place for any magic user to start. Let's see, here," he pulled out a book, " _The Red Dragon_ ," he started making a pile in Stiles' arms, naming them as he went. "Oh, of course," he pulled another book off the shelf and put it into the teetering pile in Stiles' arms, "the _Ars Moriend_ i, a god send for anyone."

"I can't afford these." Stiles said quietly.

"Consider it a loan." Blood said, "now be a good lad and put them on the counter, we can have tea." Behind him the stereo sang _"can you lie next to her and give her your heart, your heart as well as your body?"_ "You can return them when you go to the Misk."

"I'm not here to tour the Misk." Stiles protested, "I'm here for family."

"Do you want to tour the Misk?" Blood asked calmly. _"Can you kneel for the king and say I'm clean, I'm clean? Oh tell me now, where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?"_

"I'll need to tell Alfred, I don't want him to worry." Because Stiles did want to tour the university, he wanted to see what the best magic university in the world looked like.

"Go ahead," Blood said, "I like Alfred, I wouldn't have him worry." He went behind the counter and pulled out a book with a soft leather cover, like a journal, before he put it on the pile. "So you don't think I forgot, your mother's novel."

"I didn't look for the second one." Stiles blurted out. "I thought, well, I know," he frowned, "if I found it I'd read it first, yanno, and..."

Blood didn't smile, he wasn't the type, he looked like an FBI profiler out of one of the shows that the sheriff tivoed, except for his shirt sleeves rolled up to show his tattoos, and the pocket watch attached by a fob chain to his vest, and the suggestion that his suit was far more expensive than it looked. "I understand completely. I would be the same about Buttercup's Baby."

"You've never seen the Princess Bride?" Stiles was shocked by that.

"I've seen it," Blood admitted, flicking on the switch for the kettle with a loud click, "I've just never read the book."

Stiles lowered his eyes as Blood pulled out a tea caddy and pulled from it a pair of very distinctive pyramid shaped tea bags. "I don't want to learn magic." He said in a low voice.

"I know." Blood said as he made the tea, not turning. "But you want to _learn_." And Stiles knew the truth of that. He wanted to read all of the books piled on the counter, every one of them. He wanted to know what they said, what they knew. He wanted to see the university library and know which books he'd read and which ones he had to look forward to. _"So tell me now, where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart? oh tell me now, where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotham Miskatonic is an injoke, in DCU Gotham University has a world famous magic department, but there is so much allusion to Lovecraft in Batman that I couldn't resist doing this. The Miskatonic is the university in Lovecraft where they study magic and also fund the expedition in beyond the mountains of madness and is situated just outside the town of Arkham. Stop me when you start to see the parallels. So that Gotham would have a magic university, well college really as it's attached to Gotham U, made sense to me, that it would be the Misk was inevitable.
> 
> In response to Jay - sorry, it's canon  
> if you want to know more about what happened there is a fantastic movie "Under the Red Hood" (featuring Jensen Ackles as Jay and Neil Patrick Harris as Dick) which tells that story, this is the actual week after Bruce returns. It's worth watching - it's easily one of the better Batman movies (the live action ones are top ten, but the top five are all animated. Mask of the Phantasm, Return of the Joker, Year One. I'm a geek and wear my bat heritage proud!  
> Anyway Under the Red Hood - awesome
> 
> also for those who want to see what this Jason Blood looks like  
> http://athenadark.tumblr.com/image/45680434412
> 
> Buttercup's Baby is the entirely fictional sequel to the princess bride, anyone who has read the book has hoped it came out but it never did. The Princess Bride is a wonderful book but it's a wind up, there are all these inserts by Goldman talking about his family and his efforts translating the book - and they're all lies. Instead of the truth about where the story came from (two daughters, one of which wanted a book about a princess, the other about a bride) so it's full of anecdotes which are completely false, including that he lost the rights to abridge Buttercup's baby to Stephen King. Apparently most of the letters Mr King gets are about this book - that doesn't exist, will never exist, but has a few chapters at the end of the 25th Anniversary version of the book.  
> The Princess Bride is an amazing film, but it might just be a better book. (this is true in almost all cases, but Interview with the vampire is pretty much the exception, the film is better than the book then)
> 
> I got asked on tumblr for the recipe for Oma's Pierogies  
> this is the one I use - and they are a bother - but they are so worth it  
> http://pittsburgh.about.com/od/recipes/r/pierogies.htm


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles at the Miskatonic University

Stiles pulled the Lexus around the back of the manor and into it's customary parking spot, climbed out, making sure to take the large canvas shopping bag off the passenger seat, before he went into the manor through the kitchen. Alfred was sat on the floor surrounded by cans and cleaning supplies. Stiles sighed when he saw him. "I got some oil for the books in the library." Stiles said putting it on the counter with a packet of chamois leathers. When Stiles had told Blood about Alfred's obsessive cleaning he had just gotten a bottle out of the back and put it into the bag for him.

He had actually managed to find the shopping bag, which was a sort of rough hessian and looked designed to carry bodies rather than books, and having spent the day with him Stiles found he almost liked Blood, there was an air about him that shrieked danger and when Stiles had mentioned it, rather than downplaying it told Stiles he had good instincts and that Blood was dangerous, but he intended no danger to him now. In fact, as he led Stiles to his tiny car, and who thought that anyone in America drove a Smart Car, which looked to be about pocket sized, and was plugged into the mains electricity because it wasn't enough to have the smallest car on the Eastern Seaboard it had to be electric too, let alone one who looked as dangerous as Jason Blood, that it was probably his magic trying to warn him.

He had talked a lot to Blood about magic on the drive out to the Miskatonic, and how it was a big deal and that when Deaton had started him with fire magic he had made a lot of Stiles' emotions more volatile because fire magic did that, because fire was volatile. It was a good place for an adult to start, he added, but teaching it to a teenager was just plain irresponsible, but it was also probably where Deaton had started to learn. When asked where he would start Blood went quiet for a moment and said water.

Stiles learned more in the forty minute drive with Blood than he had all summer with Deaton.

There were five elements, earth, water, air, metal and wood, and it was how these elements were manipulated that created effects. The magic was the manipulation. For example you could easily separate earth with a shovel, but doing it without a shovel, with the energy that was in the universe, that was magic. All of the elements could be combined but that was advanced magic, and could create odd effects, so if Stiles combined water and metal he would be able to control a person because of their blood but it was like puppetry, if he used air as well he could completely control their thoughts as well. Blood said that that was the simplest example of how it was done, precisely because it was almost impossible to actually do, as metal and water and were completely inimitable and wouldn't work together at all unless completely forced and that took years to learn.

And the Miskatonic was, well, Stiles was sure that there were words to describe the Miskatonic but they probably weren't in English. "I thought it would be like Hogwarts." Stiles muttered as they pulled up through the main gate. "Or maybe the College of Winterhold."

Blood laughed. "We wish it was that organised, Terry Pratchett based the Unseen University off us, except he couldn't quite catch the crazy." 

The Miskatonic looked like the house in the Haunting, and apparently Susan Hill had done that deliberately, but it was also a lot of other buildings that didn't seem at first glance to be associated, including an entire block of brownstones. "Most universities teach," Blood has said, "but it wasn't always like that, we use a very old model for the Misk," and he had admitted that he knew so much about the university because he had a chair there, and the way he said it made Stiles think of that old Simpsons joke which had Mr Burns in a throne with dogs at either side forcing the University of Springfield to accept Homer. "What it means is that you will get a lab," and Blood had later shown him one of those and it was awesome, with mountain ash cabinets and a huge pile of lab books and a volume to make into his own grimoire, with magical inks and pens and an alchemy table, and the most comfortable looking chair Stiles had ever seen, "and access to the library which is mostly kept underground, and you learn what you want to learn."

There had been a small explosion in one part of the lab building as Blood had said it. 

"and we're fully insured against everything, and there are amazing sprinkler systems that use salt water, there are decontamination showers attached to every lab and security is a pack of old world werewolves so if you create something that escapes it won't get very far."

The Unseen University was an apt description, it turned out, but bedlam might have been closer, or possibly open air asylum, because it seemed everywhere that Stiles went was another example of something so crazy it had to be magic. There were reference books which when told, verbally, recreated any book in the library in their pages. There were keys which opened doors to the university from anywhere in the world, and then back to other keyed places. There were tiny little imp creatures who invented things, but Stiles was under strict instruction not to get them overexcited as they tended to projectile vomit over everything, and the things that they invented worked, but very rarely in the intention which they were designed. There was shuddery talk over a second story bathroom that they had created which, when you turned on the hot water, opened a portal to a dimension no one wanted to talk about and sounded a lot like the prison that Reed Richards had used in the Marvel Civil War comics. Blood had joked that if they wanted the imps to build a bathroom they needed to ask for a giant pipe organ, although they had invented one of those which actually fed the people at the university. It wasn't always human food but apparently playing O Susanna gave a really nice gooseberry fool.

It had been when Blood was showing Stiles that that what appeared to be Professor Membrane from Invader Zim went running past shouting about science and cheese boards, and Blood's only explanation was that they had had a funding cut, as if this was perfectly normal, and the thing was, that in the Misk, this was. Blood had even offered to draw him up a degree because the university didn't care about those things, it cared about research and learning and trying to find new and better ways to clean imp vomit off the walls because someone had overstimulated them with an idea, and they had invented a staff of fireballs which mostly just set itself on fire and burned the user.

The place had been awful and awesome and very, very strange, and half of Stiles wanted to study there more than anything, and the other half wanted to know what you could do with an education from a university that kept half of it's library in Hell, because, it did. Blood had understood and said that the offer was there for him, that funding wasn't something he needed to worry about at all, and not just because of his extensive Wayne Enterprises scholarship, because he had more than earned his place there, but when he was ready this would be his lab, and it had a window that overlooked what appeared to be Rohan because it certainly wasn't Dunwich.

There had been other things too, a bacon double cheese burger that had been so good that it had clearly come from another dimension, because no where on this earth was even close to that level of perfection, and a leather bracelet that Blood told him would keep him from the best part of his magic until he was ready as he tied it around his wrist, and mirrors that cat called to him, and the most amazing photocopier he had ever seen that skittered across the floor like the washing machine at home, before it started talking to itself. He held the book it had copied for him tightly, because although the book couldn't copy language it was amazing at pictures and the pictures were worth the trip alone. In the book that he had stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie, the one that the machine had copied for him, because the reference books were magical and normal copiers just didn't work, were pictures of the Hale pack from the time that they first settled California, hundreds of years before.

There had been the statue with the strange engraving that Stiles had to squint to read and when he had he did so aloud "Gone - Gone, the form of man, and rise the demon Etri," and Blood slapped his hand over his mouth with the admonition never to call a demon by name, it just attracted their attention.

And on the drive back Stiles had been quiet and Blood had sung along with Simon and Garfunkel because he just plain liked them, even if it was old people music, and the Smart Car was tiny but kinda cool and ran almost silent, and Blood had been nice to him, he hadn't offered him condolences or apologies, just cups of tea and let him wander the university, explaining things that Stiles pointed out, and being patient with the wizards who stopped them, even the one who asked Stiles to remember him to his father, who had saved his life when he was a beat cop in Gotham, and that just made Stiles more angry, because all of these people knew him because of who his mother was, or who his Oma was, or even who his Dad was, but none of them knew him.

So when he got back to the manor, after being stopped in the lexus three times because apparently a kid like him shouldn't be driving a car like that, which he understood even if it was annoying, then when the police officers found out his name they mentioned his dad, and then they said that they were sorry to hear about his Mom, and they were sorry about Jason, and that they were sorry about pulling him over, before he got three more miles and some other cop did it, he was tired, pissed off and hungry.

He got himself one of the tuna mayo sandwiches he had made before he left the house and a large glass of mountain dew because he needed it, the adderal might try to keep him focussed but sometimes he needed the extra kick, and even if it didn't send him off the deep end of a hyper he didn't really like the taste of coffee, and sat down in front of Alfred's old television, which he wouldn't let Bruce replace, in the kitchen to eat.

Local news in Gotham was as crazy as the town. A blonde woman whose hairstyle appeared to be shellacked into place in a hideous pink suit was reporting about the general violence of the town with what was supposed to be a disapproving frown that made her look constipated. To make matters worse the brain twin of Coach Finstock was her co-anchor. It had been a relatively quiet day in Gotham, in that there were no aliens attacking, no undead ravaging through the streets and only one bank robbery in which the Gotham SWAT had managed to save the day without killing anyone, that was more rare than the alien invasions and the zombie hordes happening on the same day, but what the news was fascinated with was that there was a new costumed hero in town, and they had a photo.

Stiles sprayed tuna, mayo and mountain dew all over the screen.

That was enough to bring Alfred over to see what it was and all he could say was "oh my," as Stiles tried to wipe his last mouthful off the screen.

The new hero was wearing bright royal blue with light blue accents, a standing collar and what appeared to be Judge Dredd epaulets, to make matters worse the epaulets formed a vee under a neck line low enough that the Bee Gees were envious, baby blue boots and gloves finished the ensemble. "That's just," Stiles said shaking his head.

"Isn't it just," Alfred agreed.

"I'm embarrassed for him." Stiles said, speechless, there were so many quips just waiting to happen but shock had pretty much stilled them for now.

"I can see how he could discourage crime, Master Sasha," Alfred said, "I'd be embarrassed to be caught by him."

"It's like," Stiles couldn't believe it, "something Beyonce would wear in a live show."

"Yes," Alfred said, wringing out the cloth in his hands, "someone should take that boy aside and explain it's been forty years since Disco."

"Even the colours are," Stiles said quietly, "do you think he," he made a gesture with his hands that would have made John Travolta proud.

"What are you talking about?" Dick said, taking the tray of sandwiches out of the fridge and helping himself to easily half the pile.

"There's a new hero in Gotham, Master Richard." Alfred said, "there is footage of him on the evening news."

"Anything we should worry about?"

Stiles snorted out a laugh, "nothing we can't blame on the boogie." Dick looked a bit worried, "although Earth Wind and Fire called him and asked for their outfit back."

"It's not that bad." Dick protested, resting his forearm on Stiles head so he could see the picture which was flashing up again. "Okay, maybe it is." He winced like it was a personal insult. "What are they calling him?"

"They can't decide between Disco Stu and Disco Dan." Stiles said, "I'm going with the missing Gibb brother, perhaps a grandson."

"I imagine it will be difficult for him," Alfred said, "Stayin' alive."

"Fighting crime, jive talkin'." Stiles continued.

"I'm sure they can lay it on me."

"Ha ha," Dick said, pouring himself a glass of milk from the other side of the kitchen.

"I started a joke," Alfred continued.

"He might need to leave, I bet he can't show his face in Gotham anymore, possibly go to Massachusetts."

"In that costume, he really is more than a woman."

"It truly is a," Stiles paused to let it build, "tragedy." Dick left the kitchen making sure to slam the door behind him.

Stiles was grinning as he finished off his sandwich. "I suppose I better bring up something to eat to Great Aunt Ada Doom." He said as he put his plate in the dishwasher.

"I didn't think you had read that book, Master Sasha, to make that joke." Alfred said as he boiled the kettle for tea.

Stiles just continued smiling as he put a few of the sandwiches that were left on the plate. "You told me it was your favourite." he said.

"Indeed it is," Alfred agreed with a sigh, "and would that all problems could be solved as simply."

Stiles poured a cup of coffee for Bruce and put it on the tray with the sandwiches, "Maybe they can," he said, "we just lack her vigor." Alfred said nothing, he just continued to make the tea.

\--  
Bruce's bedroom was dark when Stiles knocked and entered. There was a lump in the bed which he assumed to be Bruce. He didn't bother with the curtains, because one of the few times Bruce got out of bed was to close them, the rest was bathroom breaks. He hadn't eaten the food that Stiles had left their earlier, but half of a protein bar was missing, so he'd eaten something which was an improvement. "I brought you some more food," Stiles said, switching out the trays, "I'd like you to eat something."

Bruce didn't answer him.

"I went to the Miskatonic today." He said standing there with the tray. "Jason Blood took me." He paused. "He said that you'd react to me telling you that because you think Blood is really dangerous." He waited but there was no answer again. "I agree, by the way, he really is."

There was just silence, not even the rustling of bedclothes to say that Bruce had heard him.

"No one is expecting anything from you, but it's been seven days." Stiles stopped again, "and that's what you gave my Dad when my Mom died, and so it's time to get up, Alfred and Dick are worried about you, I worry about you anyway so it's not anything new for me." He waited, but Bruce made no move. "When my Mom was sick I remember she went away, and I asked her why, because I wanted her to stay with me, I didn't understand that she was dying, just that she was going away and I didn't want her to." He stopped waiting for the words to come, "so I asked her, and she said she had to because someone had to do these things. I asked her why it had to be her?" He stopped again, swallowing past a golf ball sized lump in his throat. "And do you know what she told me, she said," he swallowed again, taking a deep, shuddery breath, "she said, if I don't do it, I don't know that anyone else will." He paused. "No one's expecting you to go into a board room or scare off Lex Luthor or whatever it is you do all day, no one is expecting that you're all right with this, but, Bruce, this," he stopped, "this is just a scared little boy hiding in his room." He waited again, "and you're better than that. I'm not asking that you get over it, because it's not that easy, I'm asking you to fake it, to hide it so you don't make Alfred and Dick worry more than they are. Alfred has cleaned every room in this mansion, and Dick is going out drinking and fighting because... it's bad, I know that." He stopped, "but if you don't, you don't know that anyone else will."

When he left he pulled the door closed behind him, he carried the tray down the back stairs into the kitchen, dumped the uneaten sandwiches into the sink for the waste disposal, put the unopened bottle of water back into the fridge and went up to his room, finding his phone and dialling. Derek answered on the first ring.  
\--

Notes:  
The Gotham Miskatonic had to be like the Unseen University, it just did, but I wanted it to be like an old university where you studied what you liked as long as you published and could pay your way, there were no lecturers except to make money to stay there, there were labs and libraries and monks, lots of monks, ie if you taught people paid you to do so.

The imps were stolen, wholeheartedly from [here ](http://oglaf.com/%22) which is an awesome webcomic and I wholeheartedly rec

The First Nightwing costume is an abomination and referred to as the Disco Nightwing - for a reason (also Dick has notoriously bad taste in clothes)  
you can see it [here ](http://athenadark.tumblr.com/post/48237876407#notes)

for a full breakdown of how the costume evolved into the much nicer one he wears now you can read about it [here ](http://fyeahdickgrayson.tumblr.com/post/1563066588/the-many-costumes-of-dick-grayson) and yes he had a mullet of epic proportions for years!

The jokes that Alfred and Stiles makes are almost all Bee Gee songs. (Although Earth Wind and Fire did wear similar costumes which you can see [here ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jLGa4X5H2c) and I do not regret the disco earworm. Except Blame it on the Boogie which is by the Jackson 5 (their costumes were much more tame)

The book they talk about is Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons (which is one of the funniest books in print ever about a teenage girl who moves in with relatives and with nothing more than good taste and a can do attitude makes their world better (there is a film version of this with Ian McKellan and Stephen Fry in it))


	18. Chapter 18

The day before Jason's funeral Stiles was woken early by his phone ringing. He had fallen asleep to Derek reading to him in a low soft voice about monsters and the things that hunted them, and felt almost well rested for the first time in weeks. He fumbled his phone over the screen - a new waynetech handset because Lucius just handed him one every time he stepped off the plane into Gotham - "h'llo."  
  
"I'm running away to the Yukon with your Oma." Isaac said. "She says I can be her curly haired boy toy."  
  
Even mostly asleep Stiles laughed. "Dude, her pierogies aren't that good." Isaac made a chuffing sound down the phone. "And she lives in Oregon, not Alaska." He wedged the phone against his ear as he fought his way out of the blankets.  
  
"She made babka." Isaac sounded smug.  
  
"Oh, wounded!" Stiles said, "she never makes me a babka. I understand completely, I'd run off with her if she wasn't my Oma, did she make the gulyas leves in the chleb zytni bowls, with the sour cream and the pickles?"  
  
"I don't know what that is." Isaac said sternly, "but now I'm going to ask her to. She made cupcakes, and they're the lightest fluffiest cupcakes in all of creation, with real butter cream icing, I know it was, I watched her make it."  
  
"If you run off with her you'll get so fat."  
  
"I don't care if she's the witch in Hansel and Gretel," Isaac sounded so sincere when he said it, "her cooking is that good if she chopped off my leg for stew I'd be beside the pot stirring it for her." He was quiet for a moment as Stiles pulled on his jeans with one hand, years of living on the phone to Dick had made him amazing at living with a cell phone wedged under his ear. "I'd even make her tea, besides, I'm a werewolf, if she cut off my leg it would probably just grow back." Stiles barked out a laugh. "How is everyone?" he asked, "actually hang on, I gotta piss." He put the phone down on the counter and took care of it, washing his hands, then his face and brushing his teeth. "Sorry about that," he said as he wedged the handset back under his ear, "I figured there were things that we didn't need to share."  
  
"But we're like brooootheeeers." Isaac singsonged in his ear, "I wanna run off with the only woman in your family." He continued, "even if she's not the one who left pan-stick on the pillow case."  
  
"One time," Stiles said, going down the back stairs to the kitchen. "It was one time. So, what's happening in Beacon Hills without me there to referee."  
  
"Melissa might have actually adopted Derek," Isaac said, "Peter showed up with a "does being dead count as a reason for not calling for three months?" apology gift and she found out about everything."  
  
"She already knew," Stiles went to the fridge and pulled out the remains of the previous day's sandwiches, putting them on the counter to feed to the waste disposal before taking down a bowl from one of the cabinets and filling it with cornflakes, then milk. Bruce was sat at the kitchen table, with a folded broadsheet and a cup of coffee. He gestured with his head to Stiles who nodded back. Often this was how he and Bruce interacted, Bruce had absolutely no idea how to interact with kids, he hadn't when Dick was a teenager, he hadn't when Jay... and although Stiles had known him all of Stiles' life Bruce seemed terrified of him. The occasional head nod and refilled coffee worked for the two of them.  
  
"Now she knows ev-ry-thing," he drew the syllables out, "about Allison, about saving Jackson, about Derek."  
  
"Oh shit." Stiles said sitting down at the table, "that's just..."  
  
"I know." Isaac said, sounding positively gleeful. "She took him by the ear and dragged him to Derek, I mean physically, by the ear, using phrases like "no son of mine," and "I raised you better than this," and my personal favorite, "what were you thinking? were you thinking?"" Stiles laughed, he couldn't help it, he could SEE it. "It gets better," Isaac continued, "seriously when she found out Derek was living in the old Hale house she found him an apartment. I want to be there when she gives him the keys, she's rehomed him without even asking if he wanted to be. And then," because apparently when the shit hit the funny fan Stiles was in Gotham, "she hit Peter over the head with his fruit basket and started chasing him around with a shoe going "my baby, he has chemistry to study for, have you seen his grades? it's all your fault"."  
  
Stiles snorted into his cornflakes and across the table Bruce raised a querying eyebrow but said nothing, just took more of his coffee.  
  
"I have been on the recieving end of that shoe." Stiles said fondly, Melissa had never actually hit him with it when they were younger, just chased him with it a time or two. "Let's just say I gave her lots of cardio."  
  
"I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to lose my spleen through my nose, seriously, I hurt, and she's just thwapping him with this bright pink croc going you're a werewolf, you'll heal." Stiles snorted again. "I thought someone was going to call your Dad, seriously, she chased him down to the road and a car stopped and Peter just grinned at the driver and said "it's alright, we think of this like foreplay." Stiles roared with laughed, spraying cornflakes and milk everywhere.  
  
Bruce looked at his paper a little mournfully but said nothing, before wiping it down with a tea-towel that happened to be on the table, before shaking it out, then he unfolded his paper, turned the page, and carried on as if nothing had happened. Clearly he was used to this kind of behaviour, then again he lived with Dick. "And when your Oma found out, because you knew this had to escalate, she offered her shoe because it had a wooden sole, she said, now this is up to her armpits in baking, "droga, he's a werewolf, he'll heal."" Stiles laughed again.  
  
"That doesn't mean you get to run away with her," he stood up, phone still wedged between his ear and shoulder to rinse out his now empty bowl, "just because she bakes for you."  
  
"She doesn't just bake, Stiles," Isaac continued, "she bakes fabulous foods with names I can't pronounce." He paused, "she made kolaches, I don't know what they are but I really really like them and sometimes they have fruit in them, and sometimes sausage, and I don't care. She could be poisoning me and I can't stop eating. Derek said I was going to get fat until she fed him and now he's hanging around like a stray cat in the hope it happens again."  
  
"He didn't tell me that." Stiles said, slotting his bowl into the dishwasher.  
  
"You've spoken to Derek since you went to Gotham?" Isaac asked, "I know I keep phoning because your Dad and Oma want to know how you are and Oma is bribing me with food and your Dad's busy interviewing new deputies, I didn't know you were phoning Derek, is it because he's your boyfriend, because you loo-oove him?"  
  
"You're a bigger dick than Scott, you know." Stiles said, sipping on a glass of fruit juice. "I'm sure I can convince Melissa to swap you out for Scott, you can live with her."  
  
"And miss out on your Oma's cooking, why you ackin' so cray cray, Sasha?"  Stiles laughed again because he got the impression that apart from this being a check in for his Dad, who phoned him every day anyway, that Isaac might have been a little lonely. Boyd and Erica were always wrapped up in each other, and if Melissa was angry at Scott he wasn't getting out any time soon.  
  
"I'm swooning," Stiles answered without missing a beat, you didn't grow up with Dick Grayson without learning how to Sass, because seriously Dick learned at the feet of a master, Alfred Pennyworth. "It's what happens when you have breakfast with the most eligible bachelor in America. Say hi, Bruce," Stiles held out the phone.  
  
"Hi, Bruce," Bruce said without looking up from his paper.  
  
Stiles mouthed "I'm proud of you," at Bruce who almost nodded at it. "See, I'm not dating Derek, I'm saving myself for Bruce." Bruce went pale as Stiles shook his head and gestured to the phone. "I'm in love with his tuxedos and private planes and his house has a roof, you can't understand, Isaac, just how appealing it is that his house has a roof." And Isaac was laughing down the line, it was eight am here, Stiles thought looking at the clock on the oven, that meant it was five in California, what the hell was Isaac doing phoning anyone at five in the morning? Hell, phoning them at eight in the summer was bad enough, but it was some good gossip he had to admit. "I don't ask much, but a roof is mandatory!"  
  
"Well then, it's a good job that Melissa made Derek get an apartment, otherwise he'd still be living with Peter in his cabin in the woods."  
  
"As if that didn't signal the evil on it's own." Stiles agreed, "and don't call me Sasha, you've called me Stiles for years, only Dick and Oma get away with calling me Sasha because they can pronounce my first name."  
  
"I can't pronounce your first name." Bruce said a little forlornly to himself, "and I speak eight languages."  
  
"See," Stiles said unsure if Isaac could pick up what Bruce had said, "I've known Bruce way longer than you and he calls me Stiles."  
  
"Actually," Dick said coming into the kitchen and lifting an apple from the fruit bowl, "he most often calls you an ungrateful home invader. Is that Derek? say hi for me."  
  
"It's Isaac." Stiles corrected as in his ear Isaac was sing songing, "Derek and Stiles sitting up a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, or should that be Derek and Stiles sitting in Derek's newly rented apartment k-i,"  
  
"Ooh, puppy, lemme talk," Dick took the handset, put it to his ear and walked across to the other side of the kitchen.  
  
"He seems nice." Bruce said, clearly uncomfortable now that he had been left to have conversation with Stiles.  
  
"Isaac, he's," he stopped, "he's getting comfortable enough with us to be himself now." He admitted, "He moved in with me and my Dad just before you left the States." He was careful how to word it, "he just needed a place to find his feet." Bruce's eyes flicked across to Dick. "But I have to tell you, it's not true, I'm not in love with you, Bruce, I've tried, it's been years and I've tried, I've tried so hard, but it's not you, it's me."  
  
He had hoped to make Bruce laugh or smile, but clearly it was a bit too soon. "We're going to the funeral parlour today," he said, "to say goodbye before the ceremony tomorrow, are you coming with us?"  
  
Bruce crumpled the paper between remarkably meaty fists. "Not this time." He said evenly.  
  
"Okay," Stiles agreed. "Do you want us to bring anything in?"  
  
"I'm good," Bruce said, folding the paper then smoothing it out before he stood up. "Say hi to your dad and Oma for me." He stopped then pulling on his jacket, "and Alfred still wants those recipes from her, so if you could remind her of that too." Stiles nodded. This wasn't Bruce coping with his grief, this was him faking it, but Stiles understood that too. It was much easier to fake it until you could cope than try to cope on your own. Every one in the house was faking it to some degree, Bruce locking himself in his room and refusing to get out of bed had simply been him being honest.  
  
"Hey, Little Heart," Dick called across the kitchen. "Lydia said you're go for the costume party, we're going shopping!"  
  
\---  
  
It had become almost second nature to recognise the signs of a werewolf following him, and this one wasn't subtle, so when it got close, following into the alley that Dick had led them down, Stiles reached into his pocket for the compact that the Alpha at the Miskatonic had given him, thumbled it open and brought it, open, out of his pocket, into the flat of his hand and blew.  
  
The wolf went down yelling, "my eyes, my eyes."  
  
"Jesus, Sasha," Dick said, putting his hand on the werewolf's shoulder to reassure him. "It's only Abbot."  
  
"I'm sorry," Stiles drawled, "that I am so unused to being hunted down by werewolves that my instinctive reaction is to stop them, hurt them and get the Hell out of there."  
  
"I'm good," the werewolf maintained, rubbing at his eyes, which were clearly not okay, they were raw and kind of swollen.  
  
"Wolf?" Dick asked, frowning.  
  
"Wolf." Stiles repeated.  
  
"Wolf," Abbott agreed, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve to get more of the powder out of his eyes. "He smelt of Alpha, I should have..." his eyes were streaming now. "You get that from Freya?" He asked looking at the compact, "man, that shit never gets better." He was blinking, rubbing at his eyes, which had started to bleed. "Just," he stopped, "I wanted to give you this, man." He offered Dick a small package. "For Jay." And now Stiles felt awful. It was one thing to blow Freya's magic powder into the eyes of a werewolf that was clearly stalking them, but when the point of it was to give them something for their dead friend, then Stiles was the asshole.  
  
"Stop rubbing them." He said, "You're just making it worse." He took the package, which, in his hand, felt like a heavy rubber frisbee. He patted around in his pockets to see if he had any tissues.  
  
"I can't go to the funeral," Abbott said, "protective circle, and well, Jay and I used to play in Robinson Park, he threw that for me to chase. We went back." He said, "I knew him before," he said, "and he was my friend, I just..." he stopped, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"I've not had much luck with werewolves sneaking up on me." Stiles admitted, "I'm sorry, I should have..."  
  
"No," Abbott protested, "you continue doing what you're doing. At another time I could have been trying to eat you." Dick raised an eyebrow at that. "It's better to be safe than sorry."  
  
"Can you see yet?" Dick asked.  
  
"Nah, couldn't see for shit before, it's no big, I didn't get a lot of it up my nose." The wolf admitted. "I'll be going, just," he gestured to the package Stiles was holding. "For Jay."  
  
Stiles nodded. "Does it have the wolfsbane rope?" he asked. Abbott held out his hands, which Stiles could see were burned along the palms. "I'll do what I can, okay." Abbott nodded, and thanked him, before listing out of the alley, only colliding with the wall a few times on his way out.  
  
"What was that about?" Dick asked, nudging Stiles with his shoulder.  
  
"Wolf shit." Stiles answered, the package in his hand heavy, "fuck." He added. "Wolves, man." He said like it might possible explain it all.  
  
"You going to put it in the coffin?" Dick asked.  
  
"Yeah, it'll stop him getting dug up by rogues." He added, Isaac had explained that, how since he had turned Derek had him planting wolfsbane on the new graves because that was how they had met, Derek had been hunting a rogue who had been digging up fresh bodies. Isaac had told him that, because given the opportunity Isaac was a terrible gossip. It was great, for the first time Stiles was plugged directly into the news of everything that was happening. He had always been on the outskirts of things at school, and now, because Scott had been bit, he had a Pack, who were loyal and Isaac had ears like a wolf and heard everything.  
  
Dick made a dismissive sound, "the world we live in, I would have put that down as the usual Gotham bullshit." He then reached out and rubbed his hand over the hair growing out on Stiles' head. "Guess that's why I need you, eh, little heart."  
  
"You'd die without me."  
  
"I might want the recipe of your magic dust though, poor Abbott." He smirked, "he's just lucky you got him first, I was about ready to drop kick him out of the alley, I led him in here to deal with him." Then he wrapped his arm around Stiles, "let's go see our missing musketeer, eh, Little Heart, we wouldn't want him to get lonely."  
  
  
\---  
  
  
After the funeral parlour, which had not been pleasant, Dick took Stiles to Big Belly Burger where he had agreed to meet Babs. Barbara had, in a typical show of thinking before she had acted, invited all of Dick's friends because Dick clearly needed them.  
  
They sat around one table, with Barbara holding court in her wheelchair, Stiles sort of felt left out on an adjoining two seater when one of them, one Stiles didn't automatically recognise, with a papoose on her back pulled over a high chair and in a remarkably fluid gesture had the baby out and in the chair, and distracted with chicken nuggets. "I'm Jade," she said, "and this is Lian." The baby waved a fat fist at him, or was working out the logistics of getting her nugget into her mouth with the least face bashing possible. "I'm with Roy." She looked across the table. Jade was a tall, lithe, Korean looking woman with very long black hair.  
  
"Stiles," he said, helping Lian with her chicken nugget dilemma by helping her take another one in the other hand, she was an adorable baby with bright black hair and eyes and a winning toothless grin for anyone offering her food. She was burbling and giggling away. "I'm Dick's cousin."  
  
"I tend to call him fuckface." Jade told him, taking one of his fries, and biting into it with deliberate intent.  
  
"Assface." Stiles agreed, nodding sagely.  
  
"It's terrible when you just can't call someone a dick." Dick, hearing his name looked across at the two of them, realised that they were talking about him and not to him and went back to talking to Roy. "Especially when they just are."  
  
"I know." Stiles said, "and I grew up with it. I swear someone says something is Dickish and I think of him." Jade smiled, it was a cold sort of predatory smile but it made Stiles feel better. He took a bite of his burger, a Big Belly Burger Belly Buster Supreme, which he only got in Gotham, because the one in Mount Shasta was just nasty, chewed mechanically and then swallowed.  
  
"The problem is that I owe Fuckface a favour." She stole another of his fries. "And it's a big one, and from what I gather from Roy, or Royal pain in my ass more often than not," she smiled at him again but her eyes were almost emotionless, "you have got yourself caught up in something that has Fuckface worried." Stiles shrugged. "And I can kill two birds with one stone there. No, Toki," she said taking the chunk of nugget from the baby's nose, "that's not it," and then guided the fat hand towards her mouth. "She hasn't quite mastered depth perception yet." From the satchel over her shoulder she pulled out a packet of wet wipes to the ready. "I teach martial arts in San Francisco, among other things. I tend to work with bladed weapons, so how's about this, kiddo," she leant forward as Lian, between them mashed away on her chicken nugget interspersing bites with a long complicated explanation of what she was doing in her own private language, "come September I give you free lessons, Krav Maga I'm thinking, help you help yourself in whatever you're doing and I cancel out my debt to Fuckface, you're in North Cali, I'm in North Cali, we can meet somewhere in the middle."  
  
"He's not a player, Jade." Roy said turning, "don't get him involved."  
  
"It's not the usual Gotham bullshit." Stiles agreed.  
  
"I can tell," she said, and she had a grin like the Cheshire cat. "Judging by the way you're fondling the compact in your pocket like Sailor Moon." He balked at that. "Just self defence, kiddo, nothing more, one artist discharging a favour to another, not conscripting him in the game."  
  
"The game's dangerous." Barbara said bluntly, turning in her wheel chair. "He's not to be involved."  
  
"It's okay, Jade," Dick said, "Krav maga." He turned his burger on the plate.  
  
Stiles just dropped his head on the table, pushing his burger away, "god damn but I have inconvenient relatives." He said.  
  
"Tell me about it," Jade answered, "believe me, kid, it doesn't get better just because you're older," she turned to the baby, "Toki," she chided, "in your mouth."  
  
"Between you and Jason Blood everyone wants a piece of me lately." Stiles mumbled into his arms.  
  
"Well now, Toki," she said, addressing Stiles this time, "I'm the one who gets that piece." And damn if her smile wasn't cold. "And besides, Fuckface can't teach you, distance notwithstanding, he wouldn't be nearly mean enough." 


	19. The Tale of Snow White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow White - a tale of the northlands

Snow White - a tale of the northlands  
a fiction by S Stilinski

In the kingdoms of the north, where the wind whips the trees and the wolves come at night, there was once a king who married a sorceress. He did not know that was what she was but he was lucky in that the sorceress was gentle and good, and did not seek to destroy his kingdom as many of them did. She was beautiful and kind, but she had a sister who was not. Her sister was jealous of her power, and of the man who doted on her and the kingdom which adored her, and so she cast a curse that her sister would never bear him a child so that the king would be forced to put her aside.

Years passed and the only sorrow the sorceress knew was that she had no child, and every month when the moon waned her heart broke again for there was no child. So the sorceress wept and her sister gloated, and the king fought with his advisors who told him to put aside his wife, if only in law.

So one night, when the moon was black, with a heart heavy with ache the sorceress went into the gardens her husband had created for her, and with her own fingernails, though the earth was hard as stone, she dug a small hole, using her blood to soften the earth until it was as easily molded as clay, into which she pressed two feathers she had taken from the rookery. She formed a small doll of the clay, and wrapped it in snow. She tore a strip from the black gown she wore and swaddled it, and from the ruins of her fingers she dripped four perfect drops of blood unto what would have been a mouth had it been a child.

She knew that this was the darkest of magics but her heart ached as she begged the moon, mother of blood and magic, that it give her a child with skin as white as snow, hair as black as the raven feathers she had pressed into the clay, and lips as red as blood. Then she burned the poppet under the absence of the moon.

The next month when the moon waned there was celebration for the queen was with child.

The pregnancy was difficult, and when the child was born the kingdom rejoiced for she had had a son, with hair as black as a raven's wing and skin as white as snow, and the small mouth seemed stained with blood. 

Yet there must be a price for such powerful magic and the queen knew that, and so in the weeks that followed the birth when she sickened she took it as her due, and although it broke her heart that she must leave her son and husband behind she went quietly into death.

The king, heartbroken at the loss of his beloved wife, married her sister that his son might have a mother, and all were happy.

When the boy reached seven years of age he was well known through out the kingdom for his smile and his sweet nature and so no one worried when the queen sent for an advisor from the south, one who was versed in combatting dark magic, for the boy was sweet and kind and had a smile like the sun rising over the forests, and if he ran too fast or laughed too loud it was simply the joy of youth, but the new queen saw something in him that was different. Perhaps it was how he liked his meat bloodier than was usual for a child, or that he had no taste for sweets or candies. Perhaps it was how he liked to run barefoot through the snow like the cold did not touch him, or how he would take his blankets from his bed and curl up on the floor where the moon fell through the window.

The sorcerer from the south examined the boy and locked himself away for a day and a night before he told the new queen what he had learned. The new queen sighed, for she had loved her sister, and if not for her curse perhaps the child would have been normal, but it was clear that he was not. For a day and a night she questioned what to do, for the boy was sweet and she loved him as if he were her own, but the sorcerer had only reinforced what she had already suspected, the boy had been born of blood magic and it was only a matter of time before the sweetness of the blood used to make him was replaced by the ice of the snow at his core.

So although her heart broke to do it she found out what she needed to do to rid the kingdom of the menace that the boy would inevitably become.

She sent for the master of the hunt, a man loyal to her, and told him that her magic had revealed that the prince was infested by a demon and that her magic was not strong enough to undo it. She told him that the prince's birth was the reason for his mother's death and that he needed to do something for his kingdom, and as she told him this she rubbed the swell of her own belly, full of child, and perhaps the huntsman understood, or perhaps he thought it was simply one queen removing the child of another to promote the claim of her own child, but the huntsman agreed and the next morning, before dawn, he took the boy hunting.

The snow was thick upon the ground and the rabbits asleep for the winter, but the deer were quick and the huntsman quickly brought one down, he cut a flank off it and roasted it over a small fire, and smeared the blood across the boy's face as a trophy. "Run," he told the boy, "run as far and as fast as you can." He pressed into the boy's hands the meat and a small purse of coins, "for your stepmother the queen has told me to bring you into the woods to kill you and bring her your heart and if I do not she will kill my family. So I will bring her the heart of this deer that she might let you live, but you must run, run as far and as fast as you can."

The boy smiled, and laughed, for he thought it was a simple game. He ran and he ran, laughing as he went, until the sky darkened and he realised that the huntsman was not chasing him. Then he stumbled on, with the money in his belt and the meat in his hand. He walked then until he came to a wayward pine, three trees bound together by the wind, a small shelter underneath that was dry and free of snow, and he crawled into it to sleep and cry.

When he woke up the next morning a wolf had curled around him, and was lying with the shank of meat between it's paws and was happily chewing. The boy let out of a peal of delighted laughter with no more fear in him than if the wolf had not been anything more than one of his step mother's pet dogs. And the wolf was an adolescent too, and it cocked its head, the bone wedged between it's paws, before reaching out to lick the boy's face to be rewarded with another peal of delighted laughter. After that the boy and the wolf cub were inseparable and shared their kills, for the boy was quick and could climb trees to find squirrels asleep in their winter nests, breaking their necks with quick fingers and skinning them like the huntsman had taught him before he brought him to the Forest. And the wolf was quick and could catch rabbits, and the boy did not need to eat much, and together they shared the furs, held together with clumsy stitches and found an old cottage in the woods that served their needs.

And so the boy grew up and into manhood and he was lovely to look upon, even wild, for he had hair the colour of a raven's feather, skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood.

\---

The queen had three children, all daughters, and was walking through the market with her ladies looking for ribbons for their hair when she heard the most disquieting rumour, that in the woods to the north there lived a bandit who ran with a wolf. She heard her ladies speak of the bandit with the most disturbing words that he was beautiful, like someone carved from marble, with skin as white as snow, hair as black as a raven's wing and lips as red as blood. It was said that he was strong from years of living alone in the woods with nothing but forest creatures to accompany him and that he was wild, and that such wildness made him more appealing for he was not the kind of man that they wished to keep, but only to warm their beds.

So the queen went to her mirror, which had been a gift for her marriage from her mother and had a surface as black and sheer as a peat bog and was said to be a mirror of Nehelenia and would only speak the truth. She lit candles in front of it made from the tallow of black cats and blocked out the light from the window. "Mirror, mirror, upon the wall, tell me who is the fairest of them all?" She asked it.

"My queen is fair, for that is true,  
but your sister's son is fairer than you."

"my huntsman killed the boy and his heart I ate, how now can I spare my kingdom this dark fate?"

"A heart you devoured that is true, but he'll bring your crown down around you."

And with a heavy hand she swept the candles to the side, dragging down a cup of wine with them that splashed across the surface of the mirror and she wept. 

She went into the darkest part of the castle and used forbidden sorceries to create for the boy, now a man, a set of laces and summoned him to her court. The laces weighed like a noose in her pocket but the boy did not come.

So she pulled a cloak about her and took a horse in the night. She found the small cottage where the boy lived and with her hood pulled over her face she stumbled into the clearing and the wolf growled at her. So she went to the nearest town where the boy, clearly him with his dark hair and luscious red mouth, and pulled down her hood, and smiled at him. And the boy was young, perhaps no more than fifteen, and easily seduced by a woman he did not remember whose hair was the colour of barley wine and whose breasts were full from childrearing and whose thighs were sleek and it was easily done. She left him the laces for his cloak and returned to the castle, scrubbing herself down with salts and sand.

The boy, young and still quick to laughter, threaded the laces to his cloak of bear skin and pulled it about his neck as he descended the steps to the tavern where she had bedded him, and immediately found it hard to breathe, tearing the cloak away and throwing it upon the fire.

That night when the queen went to her chamber she lit the fire of cat tallow and poured a cup of wine before she stood in front of the mirror, naked as a babe, and asked it, "mirror mirror upon the wall, tell me who is the fairest of them all?" For the mirrors of Nehelenia were as vain as their creator and responded in kind.

"My queen is fair for that is true, but your sister's son is fairer than you."

"How can that be, laces of hemlock and wolfsbane  
around his throat I wove until no breath came."

"A lace you wove that is true," the mirror said, "but he will bring your crown down around you." And if it could have, if the magic within it had made it possible, then it would have laughed.

So the queen went back to her laboratory and she fastened a pin of purest silver, anointed with the darkest poisons and went back to the small town were the boy brought his kills, and when he saw her he smiled at her and it was easy to bring him to her bed, to part her thighs for him because he was beautiful with a young man's growth and vigour and his skin was the colour of snow.

When she left she pressed the pin into his hand and smiled for him, although her heart felt like lead, then she pulled her hood up over her hair and returned to the palace.

The boy looked at the pin, for which he had no use, and sold it to a passing merchant, trading it for a sharp knife, which he thrust in his belt and continued back to the cottage he shared with his wolf.

And the queen went to her mirror, she lit the candle of black cat tallow, and poured the cup of wine "Mirror, mirror, upon the wall, tell me who is the fairest of them all."

"My queen is fair, that is true, but your sister's son is fairer than you."

"But how can that be, a silver pin I gave him  
to steal the life from snow white limbs."

"A pin you gave that is true, but he will bring your crown down around you." And if it could have, if the magic within it made it possible, then the mirror would have laughed.

The queen raged for a day and a night, she bathed with salt and sand until her skin was new, and then she went to the palace kitchens where she found two winter apples, and bathed them both in poison. She went to the town where the boy traded his pelts and meat and found him, and shared with him a kiss, before she slipped into his pockets the apples. The boy smiled at her for he knew no guile and bit the apple there and then in front of her and fell down dead.

The queen returned to her castle finally free of the curse she had placed upon her sister and laughed to the heavens.

But the boy awoke that night in the alley where he had fallen, coughed up the chunk of apple which had choked him, and asked then about the woman with the barley hair, and went to the palace that he might see her, for he was young and without guile, and when the king saw him he was overjoyed for he had long thought his son dead, but the boy was unused to language and the ways of men. He said that he searched for a woman who had given him laces with which to tie his cloak, and a pin with which to close his jacket, and an apple in the deepest winter, and that she had hair the colour of barley. So the king sent for his wife that she might answer the boy's query, for the king would deny his returned son nothing.

When the boy looked upon the queen he knew her and said so, he said that she was the woman who had come to him with the laces for his cloak, and the pin for his jacket and sweet summer apples in the dead of winter, and how she had lain with him, for the boy had lived his life with wolves and did not know the machinations of men.

And thus the queen was hanged and the boy, more wolf than man with skin as white as snow; lips as red as blood; hair as black as a raven's wing and a heart of clay, became king.


	20. Chapter 20

Stiles really wasn't in the mood for the usual Gotham bullshit. He was stood at the table to the rear of the room, in Jay's old suit because his own hadn't fit him and with the funeral that morning there hadn't been time to get him a new one and no one had thought of it, and now he was watching the hoi polloi of Gotham socialise like there hadn't been a death to get them here.

He had made the comment to Dick about it being an excuse to wear all black and Dick had simply replied they do anyway.

It was, apparently, a wake, but most of the people here had come to network, to scratch each other's backs and advance their position in society, like a child hadn't died.

"You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders," Blood said and handed him a glass of something, Stiles didn't care what it was as long as it was alcoholic. It was.

"Oh, just the usual Gotham bullshit." Stiles told him.

"Masked super criminals poisoning the water with muscle enhancing super drugs?" Blood asked with a feigned horror. 

Stiles smiled for him. He didn't feel like doing much more. "Could you teleport me back to Beacon Hills?"

"Yes," Blood replied, "and no, I won't." Stiles looked at him waiting for the rest of the answer, "my aim is terrible, it's entirely possible half of you will end up in Nebraska, it's much safer to travel by the usual ways." Stiles glared at him because the whole thing was meant to amuse him and it was hardly appropriate for a wake. The whole thing was hideously inappropriate, all the outfits were designer and chosen to best show off the wealth of the people gathered around to talk about their wealth and flirt and network to make more money. No one talked to Stiles and he seemed happier that way.

Blood had shown up that morning with breakfast, he wore a black suit, and took charge of everything, including finding Stiles a suit, when Bruce had asked him, because he barely knew Blood, why he was doing it he explained that he was doing it for Alfred because the two of them had a standing date for high tea on Thursdays and he would be driving them to the cemetary because Alfred was family too and deserved to be at the grave side. He even wore his sleeves rolled down to cover his tattoos, and pulled on Alfred's chauffeur cap so no one knew he wasn't actually staff.

Now he stood in the corner talking to Stiles and pretending he didn't know any of the people here. He had also slipped a healthy shot of brandy into the tea that Stiles was nursing, because Bruce had made it clear that Stiles was underage and not to have any of the wine from the waiters floating about, so Blood was the one who was giving him liquor because he needed it.

The man who approached them was tall, broad and bald, and to his left was a woman in a black sleeveless micro dress with a thick blonde braid pulled over one shoulder. Stiles had been around werewolves for the past six months, he recognised someone as dangerous when he saw them and that woman may not have been a wolf but she was certainly dangerous. She was not the man's date but instead his bodyguard.

Stiles recognised the man, it was hard not to, he was that famous, but he couldn't imagine why Lex Luthor would seek him out. "I'd know those eyes anywhere," Luthor said with a smile, "you must be Sasha."

"Stiles," he corrected automatically. "I can't say we've been introduced."

"Oh, not since you were in diapers," Luthor said waving it off. "This is Mercy," he gestured to the woman beside him, she was beautiful but in a hard closed off way that suggested that noticing that she was beautiful was reason enough for her to break your arms. "You must be, seventeen, eighteen now."

"I'll be seventeen this autumn." Stiles told him, it was a bizarre conversation, not unlike when people asked him about his dad. They all seemed to think that they knew him.

"You'll soon be off to college," Luthor mused, "I assume Wayne is paying for you to go to Princeton."

"I also have a full ride to the Gotham Miskatonic." Stiles corrected him. "I have several options open, I might even apply for the Met U scholarship, and that's not including the money my Mom put aside for my education."

"That's good to hear, there is nothing worse than how the youth of today limits itself. Education should be the most important step for todays youth, will be looking into law like your mother, enforcement like your father?"

"I was considering crisis engineering." Stiles said, he hadn't told anyone that except Derek and then it had blurted out. He had given it a lot of thought.

"Princeton isn't necessarily the best place for that." Luthor nodded, "that must be why you're looking at other universities, but the Miskatonic is not necessarily better." He flicked his eyes across to Blood rather snidely.

"Yes but telekinesis can both support a collapse and move the rubble, and it is a basic and mandatory course."

"But not everyone can even begin to learn magic, it requires a certain predisposition." Luthor was almost snarling, it seemed this was an argument he knew well. 

"Should we exclude those who have the predisposition or deny the world their abilities?" Blood argued.

"Quid custodiet custodien ipsos." Mercy mumbled under her breath.

"Would you like some tea?" Stiles asked her, "I think they'll be arguing for some time and if you're protecting him you can't drink the wine. I can get you some."

Mercy glared at him. Stiles felt his balls crawl up into his stomach at the look, Derek Hale had nothing on her. She had a glare that could start the next ice age. Stiles was glad when the tall man with the impressive moustache came over and introduced himself as James Gordon, shaking Stiles' hand and ignoring the two men glaring metaphorical daggers at each other beside him. "Bruce told me who you were," Commissioner Gordon said, "that you were Detective Stilinski's son."

"It's Sheriff now, commissioner." Stiles corrected.

"Good, he is a good man, and something in Gotham as rare as hen's teeth, an honest police man."

"He is held in very high esteem in Beacon Hills." Stiles told him.

"Good, good," he said nodding, "tell him I was asking for him, and we miss him here in Gotham, but truth be told, we all hope we'd gotten out when he did." He laughed to himself. "I was sorry to hear about your mother, she was a fine woman and we feel her loss."

"I heard about your wife." Stiles answered, "and I grieve with you."

"Thank you," Commissioner Gordon said, "but I don't think the loss of a wife can compare to the loss of a mother, no matter how deep the pain goes." He ran his finger and thumb over his moustache, "I'll leave you to your loss."

"And the bickering of these two men over my education." Stiles gestured with the side of his head to the two men arguing beside them. 

"Aren't you a little young to be the victim of head hunting? Are you planning on arguing between retail and business?"

"I don't think they care what I choose, their argument isn't really about me." Stiles said and Commissioner Gordon laughed to himself. "I'm just the excuse. I told them what I wanted but they aren't interested."

"And Wayne is paying for your education?" Commissioner Gordon asked.

Stiles nodded, "I'm very lucky that way," he agreed, "he's never asked me what I want to do, just giving me the option to go and do what I want."

"Wayne didn't have that choice, he needed to study business because of his legacy."

"His father was a doctor." Stiles said, "so he has lots of books on medicine, and lots of really interesting books that he lets me read, but Blood here has given me a pass to the Gotham Miskatonic where I can leave high school now for it, but it doesn't help what I want to do, and..."

"Law? Medicine? Criminology?" Commissioner Gordon asked. He had a sparkle in his eyes. "All three."

"Engineering." Stiles answered, "crisis engineering specifically."

Commissioner Gordon nodded, "a fine aspiration, there certainly aren't enough of them in Gotham, and with the seismic activity on the West Coast I can see a lot of job security and there is never shame in helping people. Well, good luck with that, and when you see your father tell him I was asking after him, I have to go and keep Barbara away from Mrs Drake, when those two meet you need crisis engineers." It was a weak attempt at a joke.

"Thank you, Commissioner, I'll tell him."

Stiles sighed and walked away, leaving the two men behind him arguing over manifest destiny and choice or whatever it was that they were on about, because he had stopped listening. He went back into the kitchen, and flicked on the electric kettle that Alfred kept for tea, and washed his cup out to make another cup of tea. "Hey, Sasha," Dick said from behind him, wrapping himself around Stiles from behind, "I saw you with the gruesome twosome, you okay?"

"Bleh," Stiles told him. It summed up everything perfectly.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Dick agreed. "Why don't you go on upstairs, this isn't going to end any time soon, and they won't notice you're missing." Stiles turned around and took comfort in the hug, but he wasn't sure which of the two of them wanted the hug. "It gets worse." Dick said, "Bruce made some sort of deal with Luthor, he's giving you a ride back on his private jet." Stiles groaned, "yeah, but he offered and Bruce couldn't really say no, and it's better than commercial."

"Just." Stiles said. "He doesn't see me, he sees my Mom."

"He knew her," Dick said, "grill him, find out what he knows about her, she was awesome and he liked that about her, so figure that out. Alfred has a nintendo DS tucked away in the greenhouse that we're not supposed to know about so that's an option, seriously, get out of here, call your puppy. You don't need to stay here for the rest of the evening."

Stiles sighed, it was barely 2pm and it was clear that this wake wasn't going to end any time soon. A cup of tea and Alfred's DS were appealing, but yeah, he was going to call Derek, if only to whine about the usual Gotham bullshit.


	21. Chapter 21

Derek's new apartment was a loft in an industrial area of the nearby city. It was sparsely furnished with a large hole in one wall and one of the exterior walls made entirely of windows. It was clean, spartan and new, but it had the important things like a couch and a kitchen and a bathroom, which made it about ten thousand times better than the last places that Derek had been living.

Stiles had the two books in his hands when he knocked on the door, and Derek was wearing house slippers when he let him in. Stiles supposed it was because of the bare concrete floors. "You're back," Derek said and there was a hint of a smile there. He was wearing a pair of ratty old jeans and a burgundy henley that did wonders for his skin. "There's coffee in the kitchen."

"I got in late last night, after a journey I never want to talk about." Stiles said and collapsed on the couch. It was a sort of peacock blue velour thing but for being ugly it was really comfortable, and there was a coffee table close enough to put his feet on. So he did, dropping his rucksack down beside him.

"American Airlines?" Derek asked, getting him a soda from the fridge. He'd been in the apartment less than a week and it seemed Isaac was right, Melissa had domesticated him. Stiles would have to get Derek to tell him all about it. It couldn't have been more traumatic than his flight. Derek handed him the soda and then sat beside him on the fridge. 

Stiles sighed as he popped open the tab. "Worse, Bruce negotiated me a lift with Lex Luthor who was there for the funeral." He took a large swig of his soda, but he didn't taste it. "I don't know which was worse, when he was talking to me or staring at me like he was about to."

Derek laughed, bumping him with his shoulder. "Sucks to be you."

"Damn right it does." Stiles agreed. "He knew my mom, he had this crush on her, and kept asking her to marry him like a stalker, do you know the first thing he said to me, you have her eyes. Like I keep them in a box in my dresser, and I mean, I know Bruce, Bruce doesn't talk to me, he has no idea what to say to me so he tends to say nothing, he just sits there, and he's as big as you, I mean he just sits there and occasionally the newspaper twitches. I know that, I'm used to that, instead I had this multi-billionaire sitting there in his extremely expensive suit staring at me whilst I was trying to read." He threw his head back, "and to make it worse his bodyguard who might be the most terrifying being I have ever met, including Peter in his alpha form, is this tiny woman who looked like she was at most two seconds away from throwing me from the plane."

Derek was laughing at him, he knew it.

"She was the size of Lydia and was wearing shoes that Lydia would have killed for, but I swear, at the wake here was this cluster of body guards because anything to do with Bruce has this cluster of body guards who stand in the corner creeping, you'd fit in," He said to Derek, "and then there was Mercy, her name was Mercy, she was like his date, but terrifying and you know how fish move around the predator so there's always like a gap between it and them, they were like that, and they were all hardcore ex military types and she's built like Lydia and they clearly wanted nothing to do with her, and neither did I," Stiles added, "she was terrifying, I don't know what she did to get them all that scared of her, but just looking at me was enough. I was trying to read and she was just glaring at me, and then he was all "it is so nice to see the youth of today engaged in books, all too often they are on their phones." So I snarked at him, I mean Lexcorp makes those phones, wouldn't you have snarked."

Derek just shook his head in dismay at him.

"I thought she was going to shank me, or strangle me with her braid or something, I think she could take on Superman and not get a wrinkle in her business suit." Derek was chortling beside him, "I don't think anyone should be stuck on a private jet with her carving holes in them with her eyes, it's bad for the nerves, I tell you, look," he held out his hand which was perfectly steady, "I'm shaking like a leaf. You'll have to protect me, in case she decides to hunt me down." He finished his soda in a few long swallows and put the empty can on a coaster, and if that didn't beat all, Derek had coasters now, proof Melissa had arranged all of this.

"I got you something," he said then and reached down to his rucksack, "I know Bruce will send me a Gotham care package any time now, which is just stuff that he's got from conferences and the sort of sweeteners companies give him, like mugs and hoodies and stuff, and I'll just open that for the pack, because it's mostly crap, well, after my Dad raids it, it's the size of a fridge the box it comes in, and really it's like notepads although there was an ereader in it last year, that was sweet." He threw the entire top half of his body over hte side of his chair for his rucksack pulling out a large green leather bound book which he handed to Derek, "surprise." 

Derek looked adorably confused for a moment, then a little sad, like he couldn't imagine that anyone would want to give him a gift. "I was at the Miskatonic, I went to see the bookseller, Jason Blood, and he was you are your mother's son, come take a tour of the Misk, you'll want to go there once you get past the crazy, and oh my god - the crazy, it's like the Unseen university on crack. And they had these magic books and you say what you wanted them to show and they were that book, and well, I thought of you."

"So you stole one?"

"No!" Stiles protested, "because the books are magic and don't work with photocopiers they have this machine called the Grobblewonker that copies them, and I was why is it called a grobblewonker and then I put the book in after asking it, and I learned why it's called the Grobblewonker, it sort of looks like a steampunk photocopier but there was these yellow and black warning strips on the floor, which should ahve been a bit of a warning, but I push the button and Blood pulled me back over the line, and it starts going grobble, grobble, grobble, I swear it sounded like it was saying grobble, and then WEEEERRRRRRNNNNNKKKKK! and dived at me, flapping it's lid like it was going to eat me." Derek burst out laughing. "Then it launched the book at my head and just sort of lurked back into it's position, snapping it's lid a few times. So yeah, I got you a present."

Derek looked at the book and then at Stiles and then he did laugh, before he cracked open the cover, and went very quiet indeed. "Do you like it?" Stiles asked.

Derek ran his fingers over the pictures there, ignoring the words like they were in another language, turning page after page, until he found photographs at the end, paintings to sketches to daguerreotype, through black and white photos and candid polaroids. It was a history of the Hale Family, from the time they settled in Beacon Hills to the present day. For a moment Derek was still and then as Stiles opened his mouth to say "do you like it" again Derek pulled him into a bear hug, tight enough that Stiles thought that it would break his ribs. Derek gave good hugs, Stiles noticed, like being wrapped up in a comfy quilt in a cold day. He actually gave better hugs than Scott which was something that Stiles hadn't really thought possible because Scott hugged with his entire body, but Derek sort of folded Stiles into him, with his breath washing over his neck like he was never going to let go. And Derek smelled really good. Scott sort of smelled of locker room and Irish Spring soap and coconut shampoo but Derek smelled really good.

When Derek went to pull away his face was right beside Stiles and Stiles couldn't help but notice how Derek's eyes were heavy lidded, and how his mouth was a little wet and tilted just right and so Stiles, not being good at resisting any impulse that went through his head, kissed him.


	22. Chapter 22

22

Stiles walked into the Stilinski house, hung his keys on the hook by the door, before he sat down at the kitchen table and sighed. His Oma was in the kitchen making food. Isaac hadn't exaggerated about that, she was cooking to prepare for an apocalypse by the look of it. "Oh my poor Sasha," she said pouring him a cup of coffee. She made her coffee strong and thick, like tar, and then a slice of the babka, putting them down in front of him. "You look like the weight of the very world is on your shoulders."

"You better not be feeding this to my dad," he said, breaking off a piece of the cake with his fingers, "you know he has high blood pressure."

"Sasha," she said with a long suffering job, "your father, his job, it is very stressful, of course the pressure of his blood is high, this is a town full of werewolves, my love," she reached over the table and kissed him on the forehead, "a little babka will give his heart a rest, you know I would not give him food that is hard on him, a man his age has ulcers, I have sent him to the station with some tea that is good for his soul, now eat your babka and tell Oma all that is wrong with my little heart."

Stiles put his head down on the table and groaned. "I kissed him, Oma."

"He is your papa, why should you not kiss him? were you eating baked garlic again?" She stroked his head although her hand was old it was strong and warm, her skin was like parchment but her knuckles were solid as she did. "Oh, your hair is so short, it is like a stroking a dog."

"I kissed Derek." Stiles said into his arms with a mouthful of babka.

"And?" She asked. "I have kissed many boys, I have kissed many girls, and I always thought it was a good thing when I kissed people who wanted to be kissed," she sat sat down in front of him and pulled his hands out so she had them, "or did he not want to be kissed, because I know we taught you better than that." She pulled his coffee, which he hadn't touched, over to her. "But he is a big puppy, he does not have to let you kiss him if he does not wish it to be so."

"He was really good about it, Oma," he told her, "I got this book for him, he lost everything in the fire, I just thought."

"So what was in this book?" She drained off the coffee in a single, practiced swallow.

"An entire history of his family, he had nothing left of them, I thought," He swallowed around the lump in his throat, "It all just went wrong, he hugged me and he's been so nice and I thought."

"You thought he liked you?"

"Yeah," Stiles sighed.

"Does he not like you? because you are my perfect Sasha, I shall go around and tell him why he is wrong."

"He said no, Oma," Stiles pressed his lips together into a thin line in distaste, "he said not now, he said that I had been through so much lately and I was grieving and that although it seemed to make sense now I might change my mind and he liked me too much to let me make mistakes because I was confused."

"That sounds like he was very grown up about it, little heart." 

"I know!" Stiles whined, "and he's right, and he said if I was still sure by Halloween that we could try then, but he didn't want to be a mistake because he really liked me." He was pouting and he knew it, "but what if it's not a mistake, Oma, and now I have to wait six months."

"Oh, little heart, then you wait six months" she reached over and kissed his forehead, "you are overwhelmed right now, there are so many things happening, you have learned about your mother and me, you are coming into your power, there is all this thing about the werewolves and then poor Jay died, it's okay to need time to process, and your puppy has been kind to you these past weeks because he is your friend even though you like him too, and because he's your friend he's asking you to wait. It seems a long time because you are young, but it will be over before you know it."

"I know, Oma," he stuffed a large piece of the babka into his mouth, chewing slowly. "I don't like it though."

She smiled for him. "No one said you had to, my little one."

Isaac had the virtue of being mostly quiet when he came down the stairs, however with the book in his hand he didn't look where he was going and tripped over a chair with a muffled "fuck" before going into the kitchen. "Wow," he said looking at Stiles as Oma pressed a piece of babka into his free hand, "who pissed in your cheerios?" 

"He kissed Derek." Oma said.

"Well, you're here so we don't need to bury the body." He took a scrap of toilet tissue from the back of the book to mark his page before putting it down on the table, "and you don't smell of blood, so all in all it went well, right?"

"Derek did not want to be kissed." Oma said quietly, she sounded confused.

"and he didn't spit you back out," Isaac said patting Stiles on the arm, "there are worse ways to be dumped, I thought at least he would have shoved you through that hole in the wall."

"Who's shoving who through walls now?" The sheriff asked, opening the back door and coming into the kitchen.

"Derek dumped Stiles." Isaac told him.

"He didn't dump me!" Stiles shouted climbing down from the kitchen stool, "because we were never dating!" With that he slammed the kitchen door and stomped off up the stairs.

"He got dumped." Oma told the sheriff, "Babka?"

\---

Stiles was lying face down on the bed when the sheriff let himself in. "So, first heartbreak?" he said not sure what else to say.

"Something like that." Stiles admitted. "I was so sure..."

Jed patted him on the back, "do you want to go spend some time in Cloverdale with your Oma?"

Stiles turned to look at his dad. He pursed his lips and thought about it. "Yeah, I think I want to spend the rest of the summer with her, if it's okay, I just."

Jed reached down and kissed Stiles on the temple. "It's okay, I understand." He ruffled Stiles' hair then, "but you are not driving that jeep of yours down, it'll never make the drive."

"Halloween's not that far away is it?" Stiles asked.

"It'll be here before you know it."

\--

That night in a twin bed in Cloverdale Stiles answered his phone and listened as Derek continued to read to him, a state and a half away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit it, I couldnt' get this chapter out, at all, it was like trying to teach a cat to fetch, but I forced it out, and it's done and it's not the best ending so i might up and decide six months from now to do it again, but it's done!

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [ here, feel free to follow me although it's incredibly random](http://athenadark.tumblr.com/)


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